The 100th Hunger Games
by cjborange
Summary: It's been 26 years since Katniss Everdeen was killed in the 74th Hunger Games. Now, the 100th Hunger Games is here. One month from now, 1 tribute will emerge victorious and live in fame and fortune for the rest of their life. The other 23 tributes will lie dead. There's a new Quarter Quell twist, and, this time around, the Capitol will show no mercy. Rated T for violence and gore.
1. The 4th Quarter Quell

**Chapter 1: The Fourth Quarter Quell**

 **Colton Spears, a boy from District 10, sits in front of his TV with his grandfather, anxiously awaiting the announcement of the fourth Quarter Quell twist.**

 **POV: Colton Spears (District 10 Male)**

President Lock walks up to the podium with lazy posture, yet with such grace that he appears to coast across the ground. I hear the satisfying sound of his shoes clicking on the ground like a rusty crank being turned over and over again. He starts up the steps, and I am filled with terror. My mind wanders off as I wonder what devious twist could have been planned an entire century ago. It could be anything.

The President leans over and grabs two notecards from the small shelf inside the podium. He picks them up, adjusts his microphone, and begins speaking in his raspy old voice. His voice is old and cracked, unsettling and uncomfortable, like the calm before a storm

"Welcome, Panem. As you all know, this is the 100th year of the Hunger Games" he begins, bellowing into the mic like a bat screeching in the night.

This is followed by a roar of applause from the Capitol audience, who has no compassion whatsoever for the dozens of children slaughtered every year for their deadly entertainment.

He begins speaking again in his disgusting voice. "It was written in the charter of the Games that every 25 years, there would be a Quarter Quell. These special games would be even more exciting to watch, as each one came with a unique twist to remind the Districts of their failure during the rebellion."

"And now, we celebrate the fourth Quarter Quell. What twists will this year's games bring? Which tribute will emerge victorious? All of these questions will be answered at the conclusion of this year's games. Before that, however, we must first reflect on our past."

"On the 25th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it" Lock says as if reciting from a drilling manual.

I cringe at the thought of being forced to decide whom among my peers would be sent off to their most certain deaths. I am very glad I was not alive during those Hunger Games. I adjust myself on the couch and bump into Grandpa, who looks just as sad and grave as I do. He is probably reminiscing on his time alive during those Games. I feel bad for him.

"On the 50th anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen killed, each district provided twice the number of tributes."

That would be even more gruesome. I imagine standing on my pod and looking around to see forty-seven other panicked children instead of just twenty-three. I recall hearing in school that that was the year Haymitch Abernathy, the first ever victor from District 12, won.

"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the Male and Female tributes were reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district."

That was the one President Snow rigged to eliminate Katniss Everdeen. Even though it was never officially announced that the Quell was rigged, we all know it is true. To this day, the Capitol still insists that it was planned for seventy-five years in advance, but that fools nobody.

"And now, we celebrate the fourth Quarter Quell."

The president turns sideways. A youthful boy certainly no more than six years old walks up to him, clutching a small wooden box in his hands. When the President opens the box, I am filled with shock. Whoever created the Quarter Quell system had plans in place for thousands of games. The president briefly scans over the rows of yellowed envelopes and picks out the one clearly labeled "100". It makes a crisp sound as it is slowly removed, sliding against its neighbors who will not be opened for many years to come.

I am flooded with anxiety and fear. Being the 100th anniversary, this year's games are guaranteed to be more twisted and devious than any before. I am so scared and nervous that my blood feels like ice and my heart is pounding like a roaring engine. I huddle close to Grandpa, who puts his hand over mine and looks at me with sad, tired eyes. He has been alive to see all of the Quarter Quells before this one, and he seems to be fed up with the legalized child slaughter initiated each year. Most people in District 10 never live as long as he did. We all die of starvation or thirst before our fifties. He was a lucky one though, being at the ripe old age of eighty four. Unlucky, you could argue, because he has seen more legalized child slaughter than anybody else has.

The president sets the crisp, yellowed envelope onto the podium. I hear a satisfying sound as he cracks the wax seal engraved with the Capitol seal and pulls out the small, yellowed paper conceived so long ago. The President reads over the paper over a few times, and an almost childish grin spreads across his gnarled face. He coughs twice to clear his throat, and then speaks. His voice sounds happy and mischievous, like a child announcing his favorite flavor of candy.

"On the 100th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that they brought the Hunger Games upon themselves and are entirely responsible for their existence, this year's tributes will all be volunteers. Nobody will be permitted to leave the reaping until one person of each gender has volunteered to take the place of the reaped tributes"

With that, the President places the paper back inside the envelope, closes it, and places it back inside the box. He slides the key into the lock, which makes a satisfying click as it seals the contents of the box that will not be opened again for a quarter of a century.

The Capitol audience explodes in applause. Whoops and screams can be heard from all around. Their cruel, violent minds are overjoyed that this year's twenty-four traumatized children actively chose to fight in the Games.

My entire world explodes as I am filled with sizzling fury. How could they do this? Round us all up, put us in nice, neat rows by age and gender, and force two of us to sacrifice ourselves to save everybody else? The "reaping" may last for days, maybe even weeks before people start dying of hunger and somebody finally gives in to stop it all!

I scream at Grandpa like a banshee screams into the dark night. "How could they do this? Keep us all in line by forcing us to kill two children every year for their sick, twisted sense of entertainment? Why can't they just treat us fairly?"

He is silent for a moment. His tired, grey eyes look distant and calm, almost peaceful.

"Because of power" he finally responds. "Those who hold power are so afraid of losing it that they will do anything and everything to ensure that people fear and respect them. The Capitol's way of doing that is showing us that they can do anything they want, and we can do nothing we want. It's all part of human nature."

Our conversation is interrupted when President Lock announces speaks over the television once again.

"And now, please welcome our head gamemaker, Calypso Azowa!"

The girl who walks onto the stage appears to be in in her fourth decade. As she walks, her brown hair, which is in a braid, thumps up and down against her back. Her eyes look wild and excited, and it isn't hard to see why. This is her first year as head Gamemaker, and it does seem like an exciting job, apart from the fact that you're overseeing the deaths of two dozen children every year.

Her long, graceful strides lead her onto the podium and in front of the microphone. She coughs twice to clear her throat. She speaks.

"Hello Panem! Did you know that most Hunger Games arenas are in the works for up to five years before they are actually used? This year's arena has been in the works for over ten years now, and I am excited to say that it is a fantastic arena, filled with twists and turns of all kinds."

"Long ago, our ancestors realized that the best way to not only punish the districts for the rebellion, but to also serve as a reminder that everybody must make sacrifices to preserve their country, was to request that every district provide two teenagers to fight to the death in a contest of honor and courage. This tradition has continued for an entire century, and will continue for many centuries to come."

"As you all know, this is my first year as Head Gamemaker. Because of this, I have ensured that this year's Hunger Games will be the most exciting yet. I have many great ideas for exciting, entertaining arenas, and I hope to continue this job long into the future. This year's Games will bond all of us together and unite us as one country, as one family. Long live Panem, long live the Capitol."

With that, she steps off of the podium, and President Lock takes her place once again, with the same sluggish posture as before.

"Thank you, Gamemaker Azowa, for your beautiful speech." His face turns serious, yet excited and anxious.

"To all of you in the Districts, we look forward to finding out who among you will choose to be bestowed with the great honor of fighting in the Hunger Games this year. To all of our sponsors, you will soon have the opportunity to decide which tributes you would like to sponsor this year. To all of our stylists, be sure to get your creative juices flowing and to come up with some fantastic ideas for this fantastic Hunger Games. Finally, to all of our future tributes, happy Hunger Games, good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

The Capitol audience cheers relentlessly like there is no tomorrow. The Capitol TV logo appears for a brief moment before the screen goes black and nothing but an empty, black screen remains.

 **There's the first chapter down! I plan to submit new chapters once per week. Please review the story and tell me what you think!**

 **Published 4/30/2017**


	2. The Characters

**Chapter 2: The Characters**

 **POV: None**

In case you like organized lists like I do, here is a complete list of the tributes, escorts and mentors that will be in this story.

Tributes-

District 1 Male: Abalone Toteston-17

District 1 Female: Sapphire Peretz-18

District 2 Male: Colton Chancler-16

District 2 Female: Emma Walker-15

District 3 Male: Cirkyt Janik-12

District 3 Female: Gyzmo Kressin-18

District 4 Male: Nathan Kaputo-17

District 4 Female: January Frable-12

District 5 Male: Dorian Bacchmuth-18

District 5 Female: Ambrosia Clemens-13

District 6 Male: Michael Leftwich-14

District 6 Female: Anna Kerkelie-17

District 7 Male: Grover Hutchings-16

District 7 Female: Amber Symons-13

District 8 Male: Justin Kirsten-18

District 8 Female: Calico Alpert-13

District 9 Male: Jackson Harte-16

District 9 Female: Kennedy Seibold-17

District 10 Male: Colton Spears-14

District 10 Female: Amanda Boix-12

District 11 Male: Aster Sabatello-14

District 11 Female: Lillian Forseberg-13

District 12 Male: Julian Ackerly-18

District 12 Female: Danielle Koltser-13

Escorts-

District 1 Escort: Celestia Sommerfeld

District 2 Escort: Albus Hablitz

District 3 Escort: Domonic Bakwin

District 4 Escort: Hephaestus Ackerly

District 5 Escort: Aphrodite Rollins

District 6 Escort: Hecate Hablitz

District 7 Escort: Mercury Backwin

District 8 Escort: Ares Magnani

District 9 Escort: Zeus Tolls

District 10 Escort: Demeter Rollins

District 11 Escort: Hera Bakwin

District 12 Escort: Tyche Melade

Mentors-

District 1 Mentor: Amity Kilbane-Victor of the 98th Hunger Games

District 2 Mentor: Hamilton Saltcoats-Victor of the 97th Hunger Games

District 3 Mentor: Joshua Day-Victor of 90th Hunger Games

District 4 Mentor: Katrina Lanworth-Victor of the 99th Hunger Games

District 5 Mentor: Rendwhick Overwhill-Victor of the 96th Hunger Games

District 6 Mentor: Lennis Erwin-Victor of the 80th Hunger Games

District 7 Mentor: Olivia Kittimonth-Victor of the 76th Hunger Games

District 8 Mentor: Weaver McClung-Victor of the 98th Hunger Games

District 9 Mentor: Ostro Keene-Victor of the 77th Hunger Games

Ditrict 10 Mentor: Lauren Rudolphine-Victor of the 81st Hunger Games

District 11 Mentor: Lily Eckel-Victor of the 69th Hunger Games

District 12 Mentor: None (All District 12 victors dead)

 **So, there are all of the characters that will be in this story! I decided to start off the story with all of the reapings, because those are always fun to write about. Please review and tell me what you think so far!**

 **Published 4/30/17**


	3. The District 1 Reaping

**Chapter 3: The District 1 Reaping**

 **Abalone Toteston is in a jewel warehouse, practicing for the Hunger Games with his dad.**

 **POV: Abalone Toteston (District 1 Male)**

An echo booms through the warehouse as the knife smacks the cloth dummy and impales its chest. The sound rolls through the huge space and bounces off of the walls like thunder.

I can't help but smile. Tomorrow is the reaping, and I have been preparing for this day my entire life. For the past few months, I've been brushing up on my knife throwing skills, and I think I've finally perfected them. I look at Dad for feedback.

"Oh, it was fine" he says, and I can't help notice that he's grinning.

"Come on Dad, I hit it right in the chest! That one was awesome!"

I've always known he sees a warrior in me. He enrolled me into Combat Academy when I was six years old, promising that, once I came of age, he would let me volunteer.

"Oh, never mind" I roll my eyes. I put the knives away and pick up a bow. I nock an arrow. I am about to shoot when Dad interrupts.

"You know, I always wanted to volunteer when I was your age, and I tried every year, but there was always some other kid who made it to the Justice Building steps before me. I remember being eighteen, and having one final chance to become a tribute, but this boy named Marvel beat me to it. It broke my heart and crushed my soul. Ever since then, I've been training you up to try to give you the opportunity that I never had."

I see an unfamiliar look of sorrow and longing in his eyes, the kind of hopeless longing you see in somebody who desires something that will never come to them as long as they live.

"I love you so much." He continues affectionately. "I really want you to volunteer into the Quarter Quell this year. I can see it now, your face on all of the billboards in Panem after you are declared the victor."

He hesitates for a moment, and his deep blue eyes seem distant and thoughtful.

"Well, of course, you don't have to if you don't want to. The games can be kind of scary, and I don't want you force you to do anything you don't want to do."

"Of course I want to volunteer!" I reply with enthusiasm.

"Really?" he asks with a faint look of hope in his old, tired eyes.

"Really" I reply. His smile is as wide as the moon.

 **Sapphire Peretz is in the Living Room with her Mom and Dad, discussing volunteering and the Hunger Games.**

 **POV: Sapphire Peretz (District 1 Female)**

"Mom! Dad! I need to talk to you about something!" I call for them from the living room.

"Coming, sweetie" Mom replies in her soft, soothing voice. She's in the kitchen knitting a scarf. I hear her needles _click_ as she sets them down on the granite table.

"I'll be there in a minute" Dad replies loudly. He's in the basement building a new bench out of some scrap wood he found on the side of the street. Over the last two days, the house has been filled with the horrible sounds of drills drilling and the Capitol podcast playing over the radio as he works.

I walk over to the couch and fall down onto it. It collapses under my weight as I think about what I'm committing to. If my parents approve, I'm going to volunteer tomorrow. After all, I've been going to combat academy three times a week since I was five years old. I imagine the glory of a victor's life after winning the Hunger Games. I imagine living in the victor's village, lying around all day without a care in the world. I imagine mentoring two new kids every year, and training them up to go down the same path as I did.

Of course I'm volunteering tomorrow. How could I resist that fantastic opportunity?

Mom is the first to enter to the living room. Her bare feet make no sound at all as she tiredly schleps over the carpeted floor and sits down on the couch to my right.

"What's up, honey?" She asks me affectionately.

I've always known that Mom loves me more than anything else in the world. Whenever I have an issue or problem, ninety nine times out of a hundred she will give up all of her spare time to restore me to "her happy little girl."

I am a little hesitant to reply, mainly because I'm scared she'll say no. I'm scared she'll say that she can't lose her perfect little daughter. I'm scared she'll forbid me from volunteering.

The room grows extremely awkward as we both stare at each other in silence. Her eyes are filled with that kind of concern that only a mother can genuinely create.

I finally speak up. The reason I speak up is because I know she has fully supported me in every decision I have ever made, and I know she'll support me in this one.

"I'm thinking of volunteering tomorrow. I want your permission first, though."

A surprised, astounded look spreads across her face as she slowly steps over to where I sit on the couch. She puts her hand on my lap in affection, and I can tell she is fighting a titanic emotional battle.

"We'll have to wait until dad's here before we make that decision" she replies nervously.

I hear dad's comedic reply from the basement. "Oh, I'm coming" he exclaims. The wooden steps creak under his weight as he opens the door. The instant he emerges, he walks toward us, the wooden floor creaking under his weight.

"What's going on?" he asks Mom.

"Sapphire's thinking about volunteering tomorrow. I guess we should let her, don't you think? She's an independent young woman now, not just a little girl."

Dad sighs as he walks around the couch and sits down to my left. The couch squeaks under his humungous weight.

"Of course you can volunteer tomorrow, Sapphire" he answers.

"Really?" I hardly dare to believe the fantastic things I am hearing.

Mom and Dad stare at each other for a few moments. I can see the emotional battle they're going through. After all, this is a huge decision, sending off their daughter to the Capitol and not seeing her again for months.

And there's always the chance that I won't survive.

"Yes. Really" mom answers, a grin spreading across her face.

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you thank you!" I lean over to Mom first. I extend my arms and wrap them around her torso. Her body is warm and comforting.

"I love you, Mom."

I lean over to dad next. As I hug him, I whisper into his ear.

"I love you, Dad" I whisper to him.

"I love you more" he replies.

 **Abalone is signing into the reaping.**

 **POV: Abalone Toteston (District 1 Male)**

I love signing into the reaping. The satisfying click of the needle drawing blood from my skin is music to my ears. The peacekeeper who is signing me in grabs a card from under his desk labeled "Toteson, Abalone" and smears my deep red blood onto it. He drops the card into a cardboard box bursting with others.

"Next!" He announces loudly. I get out of the way and walk over to my place in the reaping.

As usual, I trod over to the place for seventeen-year-old males at the reaping. Before I can enter the sectioned off area, a peacekeeper abruptly steps in front of me.

Although it startles me, I feign calmness. Everybody here knows better than to display fear towards a peacekeeper. People who are stupid enough to do that get their tongues cut out, or worse.

"Name?" She asks inquisitively.

"Abalone Toteston" I reply on cue, pretending that she doesn't faze me.

The peacekeeper steps out of the way and lets me into my spot.

From my spot, I have a clear view of the stage of the Justice Building. The two reaping balls are bursting with names. They will be virtually useless this year, though, as two volunteers must be collected. I don't know why they even brought the reaping bowls in the first place- I guess they were just too lazy to do anything different. That won't be a problem for us, though. There's guaranteed to be hundreds of volunteers of each gender.

My heart is beating as fast as the hooves of a horse on a racetrack. My entire body is overwhelmed by a cold, clammy sweat. I have been preparing for this day ever since I was born, and it is finally here.

In the massive crowd around me, some fiddle with their hands impatiently. Some drum their hands and feet to pass the time. Most people have a determined, excited look on their faces. No doubt will most of them volunteer.

Time slows down as I wait impatiently for our escort to step onto the stage and begin the reaping.

It feels like an eternity before a peacekeeper steps in front of the microphone and announces in his old, broken voice that everybody in District 1 is in the square and that the reaping will begin shortly.

The door of the Justice Building open and out walks Celestia Sommerfeld, our Capitol escort. There has been a trend in recent years of the escort in each district wearing clothing that represents that district's industry. Celestia wears a stunning snow white dress inlaid with jewels. Her dirty brown hair is tied back with a diamond hairpiece, and she smells like fresh flowers on a summer day.

The crowd goes silent instantly, and I even look around to make sure everyone hasn't fallen asleep. As she approaches the microphone, her pink high-heeled shoes click on the hot stone ground. Her posture is quick, bright and excited.

She grabs the microphone and begins speaking.

 **Celestia Sommerfeld is conducting the reaping in District 1**

 **POV: Celestia Sommerfeld (Escort for District 1)**

I love my job. The tributes from District 1 are always so happy to be alive. In my twelve years as the Capitol escort for District 1, there has never been a year without at least one hundred volunteers of each gender.

"Welcome to the 100th annual Reaping Ceremony in District 1!" I scream enthusiastically into the microphone.

The crowd whoops, cheers, and screams like there is no tomorrow.

"Now, now, settle down everybody. Before we begin, we must read the Treaty of Treason, which describes why the Hunger Games exist."

The crowd sighs. Of course, this is the most boring part of the reaping, but it's legally necessary.

I pull a single notecard out of my pocket, and it makes a crisp noise as it slides against my body. I read it out loud. The card reads:

 _"In penance for their uprising, every District of Panem will provide one young man and woman to fight to the death in an annual competition known as the Hunger Games. These 'tributes' will be delivered to the custody of the Capitol, where they will be entered into an arena and fight to the death. The lone victor, bathed in riches, will serve as a symbol of strength, courage, honor and sacrifice. Long live Panem, long live the Capitol."_

"Now, as you all know, there is a very special Quarter Quell this year! As usual, we have two reaping balls with all of your beautiful names in them. However, two of you must volunteer into the Hunger Games this year."

"As usual, ladies first" I announce into the microphone.

My shoes click over the hot cement ground as I trod over to the girl's reaping bowl. I reach my hand inside, claw around the bowl for a while, and plunge my hand into the behemoth of papers. I pull out a single one and walk back to the microphone. I unfold the paper and flatten it out.

"Sparkle Evans" I announce excitedly.

The silence of the square is instantaneously shattered by a massive chorus of hundreds of girls screaming _"I volunteer as tribute!"_

Throughout the square, hundreds of young ladies break off from the crowd and dart towards the stage. It warms my heart that so many children are so enthusiastic about the Hunger Games.

In the jumble of sound and excitement, I hear a thumping sound as one young lady runs up the Justice building and steps by my side.

"Fantastic!" I continue enthusiastically. "I believe we have collected our female tribute!"

Throughout the crowd, huge numbers of disappointed volunteers run back to their spots. I can practically hear their disappointment. Their hearts must be broken. I feel bad for them.

I lean over to the girl, who dons a smile as wide as the moon.

"What's your name?" I ask her brightly.

 **Sapphire has just become a tribute.**

 **POV: Sapphire Peretz (District 1 Female)**

One time when I was seven years old at Combat Academy, I worked twelve hours a day, six days a week, for two years on knife throwing. The first time I threw a knife that impaled the dummy's chest, I felt happier than I had ever felt in my life. I felt strong.

That is what I feel right now. I am flooded with a sense of triumph so strong I am almost crying. I have worked for this moment my entire life, and it is finally here.

When Celestia asks for my name, I hastily grab the microphone and half-say half-scream into the microphone "Sapphire Peretz".

Celestia grabs the microphone back.

"Well, Sapphire, you do seem very excited to be in the Hunger Games."

"Let's have a big round of applause for our female tribute, Sapphire Peretz!" Celesia hollers into the microphone.

The crowd bursts into applause. I feel warm, salty tears of joy flowing down my face. This day is finally here. This is the day I have been preparing for my entire life. It all feels like one long, vivid dream come true.

Celestia begins speaking once more. "Well, honey, we can't send you into the games by yourself! We must also select a young man to join you in the games."

The crowd politely laughs.

Celestia saunters over to the boy's reaping bowl. She sinks her gloved hand deep into the mass of slips, and pulls one out.

"Shimmer Arnot" she announces.

The crowd explodes in a massive frenzy of _"I volunteer as tribute"._ Hundreds of boys break off from the crowd. I cringe as some of them trip and punch each other. I hear raw, hollow noises as their bodies hit the ground. Most of this year's male volunteers seem very vicious. Within seconds, one boy has reached the steps of the justice building. Celestia takes the boy's hand and leads him to the microphone.

"What's your name, dear?" Celestia asks the boy.

"Abalone Toteston" the boy says with a grin as wide as the moon.

 **Abalone has just become a tribute.**

 **POV: Abalone Toteston (District 1 Male)**

Celestia beams at me.

"Well, Abalone, I believe we have collected our male tribute! Let's have a round of applause for our male tribute, Abalone Toteston."

The crowd explodes in a chorus of cheering once more.

"Well, come on dears, shake hands!" Celestia reminds us, leaning towards us slightly.

I turn to look at Sapphire, and she turns to look at me. Our eyes are both filled with hatred so strong that I feel like punching her. Why does this little girl think she has the right to challenge me in the Hunger Games?

I reluctantly put out my hand, and she grabs it. I grip her hand so hard I'm surprised she isn't screaming in pain. We shake up and down three times with menacing looks on your faces and then look back at the crowd with Celestia between us.

"Very well! I believe we have collected our two tributes!" Celestia bellows into the microphone.

She looks at both of us. "To the two of you, good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

 **Abalone is in the Justice building receiving visitors to say goodbye to.**

Mom runs into the Justice Building giggling like a maniac. She darts up to me faster than I have ever seen her run before and wraps her arms around me. Her warmth seeps into my body like water seeps into a paper towel, and I feel protected and loved.

"Oh, Abalone, I've been dreaming of this day ever since you opened your eyes," Mom cries. Her voice is muffled by my clothes.

"Thanks, Mom. I'm already developing strategies for the arena." I reply. Tears of joy burst from her eyes, rolling down her face and turning her cheeks as red as cherries.

I guess she's just a mom, overjoyed to see her son accomplish something he's been working towards his whole life.

"That's my boy!" she continues through a deep, passionate sob. "Strong, determined, persistent- I know you'll win."

"How are you sure I'll win?" I ask. After all, there are twenty four of us and only one can come out. There's always the possibility that it won't be me.

She steps away from me. Her face, which is drenched with tears, peels off of mine like a sticky note. "I know it in here" she says, putting her left hand over her heart.

"Long ago, before you were born, your father and I had a conversation. We debated whether or not to send you to Combat Academy- whether or not to let you risk everything in the Hunger Games. At last, we finally agreed that we would wait until you were five years old and then ask you if you would like to go. Do you know why we decided that?"

"I don't know, why?" I ask.

"Because we love you." She says with a sob. "We didn't want to force you to do anything you didn't want to. We would never…"

She is cut of when the door booms open and out comes four peacekeepers. They walk up to where we both stand, and they grab her from behind, two to each side.

"I love you, Mom!" I yell at her, desperate to squeeze in that golden phrase before she is removed.

She yells back to me. "I love you more."

 **Abalone is in the Justice Building, awaiting his second visitor.**

The door bursts open and in comes Dad. He looks around the room in an attempt to find me. When he sees me sitting on the pristine purple couch, he laughs so hard that no sound comes out as he runs toward me. Our arms wrap around each other as he falls on top of me, knocking the air out of me.

Bolts of pain shoot through my body.

"Dad, you're hurting me!" I yell in pain.

He instantly jumps off of me and stands up in front of the couch.

"Oh …Sorry" he nervously says.

His gaze is locked with mine. I wonder what the heck he is doing as he scans over my body, seemingly investigating every nook and cranny. He bursts into tears. Thick, bulbous tears roll down his face and drip onto the floor, being absorbed instantly into the carpet.

At last he speaks through a deep sob, stopping every few seconds to hiccough. "Oh, Abalone, you've been training for this moment your entire life, and it's finally here!"

All of the sudden, his crying ceases and he begins laughing hysterically once more. I can't help but laugh along. Laughter is contagious that way. I guess that this situation is so awkward that we can't help but laugh uncontrollably. I bet we would look extremely stupid to passerby.

The peacekeepers look very confused when they open the door and see a father and son laughing hysterically on the floor. When they walk up to seize him, he tries to tell me "I love you!" but it comes out like "Ihe Lahf Yo-o-o-o!"

There are a few new words to add to my personal dictionary.

Over the course of the next hour, I receive three more visitors. Firstly, my younger sister Silk comes in. She's super paranoid that I might die, but I reassure her that I'll probably win. The final two visitors are Mr. Richardson (my Combat Academy teacher) and my best friend Ruby, who completely believe that I am capable of surviving.

The door bursts open and in comes a peacekeeper.

"Your hour's up!" he announces as he grabs me by the torso to escort me to the train. I feel like screaming in excitement, and I am beyond excited to arrive in the Capitol. Most of all, I am excited to enter the arena and become the victor of the 100th Hunger Games.

 **Sapphire is in the Justice Building awaiting visitors.**

 **POV: Sapphire Peretz (District 1 Female)**

Mom and Dad are the only two visitors. They come in at the same time, and when they do, they are grinning with joy. Their footsteps make virtually no noise as they tread over the carpeted floor.

"Oh, Sapphire" Mom says as she runs up to me and hugs me.

"We just know you'll win. We didn't send you to Combat Academy for nothing!" she laughs.

"Your mom's right, honey" Dad says next. "We completely support you in this decision to volunteer. We promise we'll be watching you on TV every minute. We'll lose all of our sleep to watching you. We would never forgive ourselves if we missed the moment when you were declared the victor".

"Thanks, guys" I reply, because that's all that I can think of to say right now. This entire situation has been piled on top of me so quickly that it is overwhelming me. I try to breathe deeply to calm down, and I hear the heavy, deep sound of my lungs exhaling and inhaling deeply.

Mom speaks again. "So, we thought you should have something to remember us while you're in the arena."

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

"Show her, Ivan" Mom says to Dad.

Dad reaches out his hand, and unfolds it. Inside of it is a small wooden ball small enough to fit through a toilet-paper tube. I strain my brain for an answer to one question: what is it?

All of the sudden, the memories start rushing back like a booming river. I was four years old, in Dad's workshop. I was watching him paint a new table that he was building. When you buy a table at the store, it always comes with a display piece in the middle. The display piece for this table was a clear jar filled with small wooden balls. I remember loving the jar and wanting to keep it, but Dad said that I couldn't have it. I guess he thought the balls could be a choking hazard. He leaned over and set the jar on a tall shelf that I couldn't reach. There the jar has sat for sixteen years.

Before coming here, he must have gotten up and grabbed a ball from the jar.

I hold it close to my heart. I will treasure this in the arena.

"It can be your tribute token to remind you of home" Dad suggests.

The peacekeepers come in very early. I deduce that, if more than one visitor comes at a time, they give them less time to say goodbye.

The peacekeepers grab be from behind, and, with a menacing grip, they escort me to the train where I will begin my long journey to the Capitol.

 **Abalone is on the train with Celestia and Sapphire, awaiting the arrival of their mentor.**

 **POV: Abalone Toteston (District 1 Male)**

"So, how exciting is this? Being able to fight in a Quarter Quell?" Celestia asks us enthusiastically. It's more of a comment than a question though.

"Very" I reply. Her face lights up.

"You know, it just warms my heart to see that kids like you are so excited to bring honor to your District by volunteering" Celestia continues. I don't think she understands the reason that we really volunteer up here in the Career Districts.

"So, let's see your District tokens now!" Celestia says.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the diamond bangle that I brought to the reaping with me to use as my token. I hand it to Celestia. She traces her finger through the crevices in the metal.

"My mom made it herself, in the jewel workshop" I say, hoping it'll get her excited.

"Oh, really? Well, she must be very talented, because this piece is absolutely beautiful!"

They must know a lot about style in the Capitol, because Celestia looks like she is wearing enough makeup to paint a house.

She carefully hands it back to me. She looks at the stupid Sapphire girl. "Now, let's see yours, honey!"

She reaches down into her pocket and picks out a small wooden ball. I can tell Celestia is very surprised. The tokens that the District 1 tributes bring are almost always jewelry.

The door to the room opens and in walks a girl in her mid-20s. As she walks toward us, her hands swing lightly at her sides and the ends of her skirt dance around her feet as she walks on the carpeted floor.

I recognize her instantly. She is Amity Kilbane, our mentor. She won the 98th Hunger Games. I remember watching her on TV just two years ago. She was in the final two tributes, along with the District 2 female. Amity threw a brick at the girl and broke her skull before being declared the victor.

Celestia gets up out of her chair. "Well, I'd better give you some privacy, dears". She walks over to the door, opens it, and leaves. The door makes a crashing sound as it closes behind her.

"Well, hello!" Amity exclaims, looking at both of us in turn. "I just finished watching the reapings. I love your confidence."

I can't help but smile at her compliment. I feel like I am one step forward to winning the Games now.

But this stupid Sapphire girl may be real competition.

"Well, aren't you supposed to give us advice?" Sapphire asks Amity impatiently.

"Yes, dear" Amity answers. "Whether or not you survive the Games will depend on how well you pay attention over the next few hours. I'm here to tell you everything I know about the Games. But once you go into the arena, there's nobody there giving you advice and telling you what to do. The Gamemakers are tricky that way. They'll do anything to make the games as interesting as possible. They have cruel senses of humor."

 **Amity is instructing the District 1 tributes and giving them advice.**

 **POV: Amity Kilbane (District 1 Mentor and Victor of the 98** **th** **Hunger Games)**

"Now, the single most important piece of advice I can give you is to get some allies. You guys from District 1 can usually pair up with the others from districts two and four, the other career districts."

"Of course, there are pros of having allies, and there are cons. If you go into the arena on your own and attempt solo survival, you get a bigger share of essentials when you need them most. Also, going solo reduces your odds of being viewed as a threat by other tributes. Finally, whenever you're in a group, you always run the risk of one of your allies betraying you and killing you in your sleep."

I think back to my Hunger Games just a few years ago. I was in an alliance with five other tributes. One night, the boy from District 2 tried to stealthily kill us all in the middle of the night. He woke us all up, though, and we stabbed him on the spot after we discovered his betrayal. He killed three of us that night. I cringe as I attempt to dismiss the unpleasant memory from my mind.

"But of course, there are also pros of having allies."

The two kids are really listening now.

"If you go into the arena with allies, there's a much greater chance that one of you will be carrying essentials when they are needed most. Also, you have a higher probability of fending off an attacker. Finally, being in an alliance significantly increases your odds of receiving sponsor gifts, which, as you know, can mean the difference between life and death. Everything make sense so far?"

The two nod in interest.

"The second piece of advice I'll give you is to run into the Cornucopia Bloodbath. Just as with having an ally, there are pros and cons to this one too."

"If you run into the Bloodbath, you are very likely to get essential survival materials and weapons that will help you in the arena. Also, you can hunt down and kill some of the weaker tributes who always decide to hide in or behind the Cornucopia. Finally, sponsors will view you as strong and confident, and will be more likely to sponsor you."

"However, there are cons as well. If you do choose to enter the bloodbath, you have a fairly high chance of death. In the Hunger Games, more than half of the tributes typically die in the bloodbath. Also, if you run into the bloodbath, you will be viewed as a threat by other tributes that will hunt you down and kill you in an attempt to eliminate the biggest threat to their survival."

The two are grinning now, and it isn't hard to see why. They've probably been going to Combat Academy since they were toddlers like I did, and they've probably been training for this moment their entire lives.

The scariest part is that, no matter how much I warn them and give them advice, I can't control what actions they actually take when in the arena. Most teens think they are smarter than adults, and they often make unwise decisions. I myself made many unwise decisions and almost died multiple times because of my refusal to listen to my mentor. I hope these two understand that I have more experience than them, and that, if they don't listen to what I say, their lives may end much quicker than they had planned.

 **So, there's the District 1 Tributes! I plan to update this fanfiction once per week. Please review and tell me what you think so far!**

 **Tribute Profiles:**

 **Name: Abalone Toteston**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 1**

 **Age: 17**

 **Social Class: Abalone's family is among the wealthiest in District 1**

 **Tribute Token: Diamond Bangle**

 **Height: 70.1 Inches**

 **Weight: 148.6 Pounds**

 **Hair: Black**

 **Eyes: Brown**

 **Likes: Rainstorms, Chocolate, Spiders, Shiny Things**

 **Dislikes: Snakes, Being Challenged, Cheese, Milk**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Win the Hunger Games and live in the Capitol**

 **Strengths: Knife, Machete, Bow and Arrow, Speed**

 **Weaknesses: Bad Hearing, Nearsightedness**

 **Fears: Failure, Darkness**

 **Attitude towards Death: It's a natural, unavoidable part of life**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: Gone to Combat Academy for 11 years**

 **Reason for Volunteering: Combat Academy Training**

 **Name: Sapphire Peretz**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 1**

 **Age: 18**

 **Social Class: Sapphire's family is middle class in District 1**

 **Tribute Token: Wooden Ball**

 **Height: 66.3 inches**

 **Weight: 132.0 pounds**

 **Hair: Long, Brown and Straight**

 **Eyes: Ocean Blue**

 **Likes: Fruit Juice, Shiny Things, Sleep**

 **Dislikes: Annoying People, Being Challenged**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Win the Hunger Games and Live in the Capitol**

 **Strengths: Knife, Bow and Arrow, Gun, Intelligence, Swimming, Climbing**

 **Weaknesses: Clumsy, Socially Insecure**

 **Fears: Rats, Public Speaking, Social Situations**

 **Attitude towards Death: She doesn't like it, but she's accepted that it has to come some day**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: Gone to Combat Academy for 12 years**

 **Reason for Volunteering: Combat Academy Training**

 **Published 5/7/2017**


	4. The District 2 Reaping

**Chapter 4: The District 2 Reaping**

 **Colton Chancler is having a bonfire with some friends the night before the reaping.**

 **POV: Colton Chancler (District 2 Male)**

Fire is so strange. It's such a complete mixture of reds and blues and yellows that all blend together into a beautiful blazing ember that licks the air like a monster in a cartoon.

"So, who's volunteering tomorrow?" Damien asks loudly, as to be heard over the cackle of the fire.

Three people raise their hands into the cold, night air: Damien, me, and Julian.

"I'm volunteering tomorrow" Julian says. "I've been going to Combat Academy since I was three. How could I resist the opportunity to be in a Quarter Quell? That would be awesome!"

"Me, too" I continue. "I've been going to Combat Academy since I was five."

"Well, guys, I'm volunteering tomorrow" Damien says. "I've been training four hours a day since I was nine. There's no way I could lose."

We all look at Jack, the only person in the foursome who didn't raise their hand.

"Why aren't _you_ volunteering?" Julian asks him through the cold night air.

When Jack speaks, his voice sounds disappointed and underwhelmed. "Well, I'd love to" he says. "But my Dad's sending me off to a private school next summer, and he says that I being gone for a few months would really mess with the registration and stuff."

"Well, that's what fathers do" I reply. "They care so much about their kid's safety and their future that they completely forget about their kids dreams."

I think about how I would feel if my own father forbade me from volunteering. I would be heartbroken.

An awkward silence grows upon us. Bundled up in our jackets that protect us from the bitter night wind, the fire is our only source of warmth.

"Hey, did you hear what happened to Misty Sablone?" Jack says. I am filled with relief that the awkward silence is broken.

"Yeah, who hasn't?" I reply.

"Of course I have!" Julian says in turn.

"Wait, what happened to who?" Damien asks, confused. The three of us can't help but laugh at the stupid, confused look he makes on his face. I guess we're just looking for some comedic relief in the midst of the excitement and mysticism of the night before the reaping.

"Well" Jack informs him. "Yesterday, Misty Sablone, the only living victor from District 12, died. She died in her sleep for no apparent reason whatsoever."

"Well, who will be their mentor?" Damien asks him, requesting more information.

"I don't know" Jack replies. "I guess they won't have one. Or maybe some other random victor will mentor them."

I guess we're pretty privileged up here in District 2. Our list of victors is 33 entries long.

Soon, after I volunteer and win, it will be 34 entries long.

 **Emma Walker is at Combat Academy training for the Hunger Games.**

 **POV: Emma Walker (District 2 Female)**

 _Thwack_

The javelin hits the cloth dummy right in the chest, and I can't help but smile. I have been training for this day my whole life, and it's finally here!

I've been practicing my javelin skills for a few days now. Today's my last day of training before the reaping, though, so I have to get as much work done as possible by practicing many different skills. I guess it's time to stop practicing javelins.

I look around at all of the different stations and list their names in my head.

 _Knife throwing, speed, agility, which one do I choose? There are so many options and so little time._

I decide to go to the knife throwing station. I haven't practiced that in a while. It'll probably help me in the arena, too.

I walk over the ridiculously springy floor to the knife station and grab a knife, which makes a cringe worthy sound as it scrapes over the steel table. Through the sound of many others talking around me, I brace myself, get into an athletic stance, and chuck the knife at the cloth dummy.

 _Boom!_

I hit it right in the chest.

I'm totally volunteering tomorrow. The fact that I've been going to combat academy since I was six makes me one of the best females District 2 has to offer. Plus, I've got the looks to match. With my long, blond hair and my sea green eyes, sponsors will be lining up around the block to rain gifts on me.

That is, if I really am the first to the stage.

 **Colton is signing into the reaping.**

 **POV: Colton Chancler (District 2 Male)**

 _Click_

I feel a pinch in my finger as a needle sucks a small amount of deep red blood from my skin. The blood pools around the inside of the syringe in a rather beautiful way. The peacekeeper operating the needle smears the blood on a card labeled _"Chancler, Colton"_ and drops the card into a box.

 **A few minutes later…**

From my spot in the reaping, I can see the stage clearly. The boiling hot cement ground is covered by a deep red carpet. Kids from the elementary school made and hung up a sign labeled "100th Hunger Games" in neon colors. It is hanging above the stage of the Justice Building. It's kind of cute.

The two reaping bowls, as usual, are bursting at the seams with slips that represent the colossal population of District 2. The bowls are useless every year, though, and this year will be no different. Each year, the escort calls out a name, and they are replaced by a few hundred volunteers in a jiffy.

Each Quarter Quell is supposed to come with a twist to make the games more fun and exciting, but there isn't really any difference this year, since our tributes are always volunteers anyways.

I stand with my eyes closed, enjoying the moment of peace. The sounds of the thousands of other teens around me are comforting. They're like white noise.

It feels like forever before I am startled to my senses. The Justice Building door booms open and out walks Albus Hablitz, our ridiculously animated Capitol escort. He walks up to the microphone like a celebrity walking down to a red carpet, sporting a grey jacket and long, black pants, with neon blue hair that practically glows, and yells into the microphone.

 **Albus Hablitz is conducting the reaping in District 2.**

 **POV: Albus Hablitz (District 2 Escort)**

"Welcome to the 100th annual reaping ceremony in District 2!" I scream into the microphone like a rock singer at a concert. The crowd roars back, with a score of whoops and cheers so loud that my eardrums ache like drums.

"Well, before we begin, I would like to thank you all for attending. I would also like to thank the children at the District 2 School who made this beautiful sign above me"

I look up to the sign, as does the entire crowd.

"Well, let's get down to business!" I roar into the microphone as I clap my hands three times.

As I walk over to the girl's reaping bowl, the sound of my hard-heeled shoes clicking over the boiling cement ground fills the soundless square.

I reach into the girls bowl and pick out a name.

"Alana Juliet" I read. "Any volunteers?"

The crowd explodes into a massive chorus of "I volunteer as tribute" as hundreds of young ladies break off of the crowd like crumbs breaking off of a piece of bread. Within a few moments, one young woman has reached the stage and runs up to my side by the microphone.

"Well, what's your name?" I ask her.

"Emma Walker" she says into the mic. This is why I love my job. The tributes from District 2 always are so happy. Even though training for the Hunger Games is technically illegal, they all get away with it because of their close ties with the Capitol.

"Well, Emma, I think it's time to pick a young man to join you in the games!"

I pick a name out of the boy's reaping bowl. "Nolan Wrack" I announce.

The crowd explodes once more as at least three hundred extremely vicious teenage boys break off from the crowd. I cringe as some trip each other and some punch each other. As usual, within a few seconds I grab one boy's hand and escort him to the microphone, a look of sheer ecstasy on his attractive young face.

"Well, young man, what's your name?" I ask him, pretending to be excited.

"Colton Chancler" he half-says half-screams into the microphone. He does look rather vicious.

"Well, I believe we have collected both of our tributes! Let's have a round of applause for Emma Walker and Colton Chancler, our two tributes!"

The crowd bursts into applause as the kid's faces turn red and tears of joy flow down their faces. I feel happy that these young people are so excited for the Games.

Once the cheering dies down, I grab the microphone. With Emma on my left and Colton on my right, I lean towards them and say "well, come on, shake hands!"

The two reluctantly shake hands, intense looks of competition in their eyes.

"Very well!" I say into the mic. "To all of you, happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

The Panem national anthem begins playing as the crowd begins to stir a bit. Two peacekeepers come out of the Justice Building and grab the tributes. The peacekeepers escort them into the Justice Building, where they will have one hour to say goodbye to their loved ones before being sent off to the Capitol.

 **Emma Walker is in the Justice Building, waiting for visitors.**

 **POV: Emma Walker (District 2 Female)**

Dad darts into the Justice Building laughing.

"Oh, Emma, I love you so much!" he exclaims as he picks me up. The world blurs by as he spins me around his body like a three year old.

"Put me down" I say to him through laughter.

When he finally does, we look at each other's eyes, and he bursts into tears.

"Oh, you've been preparing for this moment your entire life, and it's finally here!" He says, pausing every few seconds to sob.

"Okay, dad. Now, when I'm gone, don't let Julia into my room, okay?" I request comedically. Julia's my younger sister. I hope it'll make him laugh, like the most important thing is making sure Julia stays out of my room.

"Oh, I just know you'll win" he says. "It seems like just yesterday that we were signing the registration forms to send you to Combat Academy"

"I love you, dad" I say as I lean up to him and hug him tight.

"I love you too, Emma"

 **Colton is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Colton Chancler (District 2 Male)**

I've always known that I'm capable of winning the Hunger Games. My Combat Academy teacher always told me that I'm one of the best students in his class, and I could not agree with that statement more. I guess I just think highly of myself, that's all.

The fact that mom believes in me too fills me with joy so strong I feel like exploding.

The door to the small room I'm in bursts open, and mom runs in laughing like a maniac. I love mom's laughter. It's warm and deep, with just a hint, just a slight suggestion of jollity.

She says nothing at first. She just runs up to me and hugs me so hard that I feel like choking in her embrace. Part of me feels like I should talk to her. Part of me feels like I should just stand there. Most of me feels like I should love her back, because I can practically feel the intense emotional battle she's having now.

She finally speaks and breaks the silence of the tiny room. The room is so small that her voice mystically reverberates off of the walls.

"Oh, Colton, I just know you can win. We've been training you to volunteer since before you were even in kindergarten, and now you're volunteering into a Quarter Quell? That's amazing!"

"Thanks, mom" I reply, because that's all I can think to say right now. This entire situation has piled on top of me so quickly that I feel like fainting because I'm so excited.

"Come on, Colton, give me a kiss."

I don't know why, but I've always felt weird kissing my mom. I guess I'm just too old for that now.

I lean towards her and give her a kiss. I've always loved her hair. It's sometimes straight and sometimes curly. Sometimes she wears it long and sometimes she cuts it short. I guess she just likes mixing things up. She's that kind of person.

We look up in alarm as two peacekeepers storm into the room and grab mom from behind "I love you, I believe in you" she says in a panic.

"I love you too" I say.

The peacekeepers carry her away.

 **Colton is receiving his second visitor.**

I've always known that dad loves me. I mean, not in the way that people in fairy tales love each other, just with a strong sense of paternal affection.

A little laugh tumbles from dad's lips.

"Well, well, well. Look who's going to represent his District in the 100th Hunger Games this year" Dad says as if he's an announcer on a Television news station.

"You can win this thing, Colton. I truly believe in you with my entire heart and my entire soul."

He puts his hand over his heart.

"And in a few minutes, when they carry you off to the Capitol, when you ride through on the chariot rides, when you enter the arena, and when you become the victor, I will watch you every step of the way."

"Come on, Colton, give me a hug" dad requests.

I lean to him, and he does the same towards me. As I wrap my arms around him, I feel his work wear crinkling under my fingers like tin foil crinkling under my hand.

"You know, I always knew you'd wait until the Quarter Quell to volunteer. I guess I always thought that you just wanted that extra challenge, that extra boost to win."

"I know this must be pretty exciting for you, but you have to remember to stay calm. Remember that you're facing off against twenty-three opponent's. Don't forget that everybody has strengths and weaknesses. Most of all, don't forget who you're fighting for."

He places his hand gingerly on his chest.

I gasp in shock as a booming sound fills the room. I look up in surprise and see two peacekeepers walking towards dad. They demand for him to get up in their deep, husky voices and carry him away.

As Dad is carried away, he shoots me a very brief backward glance.

I'll never forget the expression on his face. It is one of hope and longing, yet one of sorrow and depression. One of happiness and joy, yet one of despair and death.

That gives me the extra boost I need to win the Hunger Games. I now know who I'm fighting for. I'm fighting for him. I'm fighting for everyone I love.

 **Colton is receiving his third visitor.**

I glance at my watch. 1:55 p.m. That means I only have five more minutes to receive any more visitors before the peacekeepers come and take me to the Capitol.

Just when I think no more visitors are coming, the door bursts open. And what do you know, it's Jack and Damien, two of the friends I was having a campfire with last night.

"Hey, bro!" They both say in unison as they walk over to where I sit on the pristine purple couch. "We only have two minutes, so we have to make this quick."

"We know you can win. We're sure you will. You're strong and brave, you're even pretty nice. I'm sure the sponsors will love you."

The bloodcurdling sound of the door bursting open signals the end of what was quite possibly the shortest visit in human history.

"Come on, boys, get out!" the peacekeeper demands that James and Damien leave. After they do, the peacekeeper walks up to me.

"Your hour's up. It's time for you to go to the Capitol" he grabs my torso and escorts me to the train, where I will truly experience for the first time the wonders of the Capitol.

 **Albus Hablitz is on the train with Emma and Colton.**

 **POV: Albus Hablitz (District 2 Escort)**

I've always loved Cedar wood. It's soft and beautiful, yet strong and decided. That's what they decided to make the tables on the trains out of in recent years. They used to be mahogany, but that was getting too expensive so they switched to Cedar.

"Well, you two, are you excited to get to the Capitol?" I ask them.

"Very" Colton replies first, smiling a little.

"Yeah, I'm very excited" Emma says, a look of sheer joy on her face.

I feel so happy for these two. They will certainly do well in the Games. One of them may even win.

A booming sound surprises me. My heart stops for a brief moment as I look around. Sure enough, there in the door stands Hamilton Saltcoats, these two tribute's mentor.

 **Hamilton Saltcoats is on the train discussing the Hunger Games with Emma and Colton.**

 **POV: Hamilton Saltcoats (District 2 Mentor and Victor of the 97** **th** **Hunger Games)**

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" I say to them mysteriously as I walk over to the chair that Albus was just sitting in moments ago before he left.

The girl nervously holds out her hand. "Hi, I'm Emma. I'm the female tribute this year." We both shake hands a few times.

"And what about you?" I ask the boy sitting across from Emma.

"I'm Colton. Pleased to meet you."

"Well, Colton and Emma, you do look like you could win this year. The one thing you have to remember, though, is that at least one of you too won't make it. It's impossible."

I always hate telling my protégés that they'll win the Hunger Games, because you can never be certain. After all, only one tribute can survive, and the highest betting odds any tribute has ever received was a 3-1.

"Well, it'll probably be one of us" Emma says.

"Well, that might be true. But don't go around expecting that you have a 1-1 chance of victory."

"How well you listen to me over the course of the next hour may well mean the difference between your life and death."

"The first thing I need to suggest to you is about what to do during your training time. You need to spend virtually all of that time training and eating."

I look at Colton. "Colton, you'll be burning up to 2500 calories a day in the arena, so it can't hurt to put on a few pounds before then."

I look at Emma next. "Emma, since you're female, and because you're slightly younger than Colton, you'll be burning around 1900 calories daily. But don't let that mislead you. You still need to put on at least four pounds before entering the arena."

"Okay, now, the second thing I'm going to recommend is that you try with your entire being to get a high training score. That simple number will either make sponsors line up and down the block to sponsor you, or it will leave you starving in a hole with nothing but the wind volunteering to help you."

"The third and final thing I want to tell you is to get some allies. If you go into the arena with no allies, the other tribute's first move will be to hunt you down and kill you. It doesn't help that you're both careers, because that'll make the other tributes view you as a threat even more."

"Everything make sense so far?" I ask them.

They both nod, and excited looks of happiness and excitement grow in their eyes and light up their faces.

One of these two kids will probably win. They're both tall and attractive. I can't imagine being a mentor in a poor district: trying to really put time and effort into two innocent kids who I know will both die.

I guess I really do have a lot to be thankful for.

 **So, there are the District 2 tributes! Please review and tell me what you think.**

 **Tribute Profiles:**

 **Name: Colton Chancler**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 2**

 **Age: 16**

 **Social Class: Colton's family is among the wealthiest in District 2**

 **Tribute Token: Grey Stone**

 **Height: 87.9 inches**

 **Weight: 151.0 pounds**

 **Hair: Dirty Blond**

 **Eyes: Blue**

 **Likes: Sunrise, Sunset, Training for the Hunger Games**

 **Dislikes: Chocolate, Death, Narcissistic People**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Win the Hunger Games and become Head Gamemaker**

 **Strengths: Swimming, Climbing, Running, Jumping, Knife, Bow, Machete**

 **Weaknesses: Bad vision in left eye**

 **Fears: Death**

 **Attitude towards Death: It is his greatest fear**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: 11 years of Combat Academy**

 **Reason for Volunteering: Combat Academy Training**

 **Name: Emma Walker**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 2**

 **Age: 15**

 **Social Class: Emma's family is among the wealthiest in District 2**

 **Tribute Token: Glass orb**

 **Height: 74.1 inches**

 **Weight: 148.5 pounds**

 **Hair: Brown**

 **Eyes: Stormy Grey**

 **Likes: Sword fighting, Lizards, Cheese, Sunrise, Sunset**

 **Dislikes: Arrogant people**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Win a Quarter Quell**

 **Strengths: Bow/arrow, Climbing, Running, Swimming, Knife, Gun, Identifying edible plants**

 **Weaknesses: None**

 **Fears: Snakes, Enclosed Spaces**

 **Attitude towards death: She believes she will go to a better place when she dies**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: Gone to combat academy for 9 years**

 **Reason for Volunteering: Combat Academy Training**

 **Published 5/14/17**


	5. The District 3 Reaping

**Chapter 5: The District 3 Reaping:**

 **Cirkyt Janik is building a machine with his dad in a workshop.**

 **POV: Cirkyt Janik (District 3 Male)**

"Hey, can you hand me some screws?" Dad requests politely from across the room. His voice echoes off of the hard, cement walls as he speaks.

"Yeah, sure" I reply. I lean over to the shelf and pull out the small wooden drawer labeled "screws". I reach my hand into the drawer, and pull out a bundle of the things. Treading carefully and watching my step for nails, I walk over and drop them on the floor next to Dad. They make a clatter as they collide with the hard cement floor.

"Thanks, son" he says.

I turn away and let my mind wander. He's been working on this new electric powered toy car for months now. Every day he's come down here and worked, pulling out parts and replacing them, testing the car on a plastic ramp, discarding the wheels and replacing them; let's just say he's been extremely busy these past months.

It's been both of our dreams for as long as I can remember to set up a family shop; a little corner shop where we could sell machines we've made. There's only one problem, though: we don't have the money.

Over the past few decades, District 3's population has exploded. The price of empty lots has nearly quadrupled, and there's no way on earth that we could afford a thirty thousand dollar lot just to build a store on.

"Cirkyt?" Mom calls from upstairs.

"Yeah?" I reply loudly, as to be heard from the basement.

"It's past your bedtime. You need to get to sleep."

I look at my watch. 1:38 a.m. I guess time does really fly when you're having fun.

"Coming, mom!" I yell back to her.

I turn back towards Dad. "I need to go back to bed, now, Dad."

"Alright. Bye, son" he replies with a tone of finality in his voice.

I have one secret that I've held in my heart for months now, one that's been burning inside me like a flame. I'm volunteering at the reaping tomorrow. It's been my family's dream for as long as we can remember to open up a family shop, but we could never afford it. Everybody knows that the prize for winning the Hunger Games is one million dollars and a life of fame and fortune. If I enter the Hunger Games and win, we'll be able to accomplish our dream. We'll be able to buy a lot, open our shop, and live out the rest of our lives in peace and happiness.

That'll be the plan, anyway.

 **Gyzmo Kressin is in bed the night before the reaping.**

 **POV: Gyzmo Kressin (District 3 Female)**

My bed is so comfortable. It's just the right mixture of soft and sturdy, of squishy and firm. Whenever I lay in my bed, my mind floats off, leaves District 3, and travels somewhere else. I'm like a cloud. No- I am a cloud. The kind you see in the sky on a windy day.

Tomorrow, June 23rd, is Reaping Day, and I have some pretty high expectations to live up to. My mom, Lainey Kressin, was the victor of the 51st Hunger Games. She was one of the lucky few that weren't reaped for the third Quarter Quell. Ever since I could walk, my mom and dad have pestered me forever about volunteering into the Hunger Games.

"You have to make your family proud. You have to bring honor to your district" they would always say. Baah, I hate it all.

I'm volunteering tomorrow, though. I know that if I don't my mom and dad and everybody I know will be heartbroken. I'm going into this disgusting array of gamified child slaughter just for them. And I probably won't win.

I hope this shows them just how dedicated I am.

 **Cirkyt is at the reaping.**

 **POV: Cirkyt Janik (District 3 Male)**

I hate Dominic Bakwin, the Capitol escort for District 3. He thinks he's so clever, when he's actually not. He has the biggest butt I've ever seen in my life, and his voice is laced with sticky sweetness that makes me want to vomit. And his clothes are the most stupid I have ever seen in my life.

"Welcome to the 100th annual reaping ceremony in District 3!" Dominic screams into the microphone, his voice echoing around the square.

There is some polite clapping from the bored audience, but not much. We all just want the reaping to be over.

"Now, before we begin, we must first read over the treaty of treason, which describes why the Hunger Games exist."

I sigh. _Just get to the point already!_ I tap my foot impatiently.

He reaches into the pocket of his silver button-down shirt and pulls out a single notecard with the Capitol seal on it. He reads it out loud in his disgusting voice.

 _"In penance for their uprising…"_ I zone out after the first few words. Why do they have to review this useless crap every year? Why can't they just pick two names, ask for volunteers, and be done with it all?

I guess the Capitol just wants to keep the terror immediate and fresh. So typical of them.

My blood turns to ice and I almost scream as I am broken out of my thoughts.

"Now, the time has come for us to collect one young man and one young woman to represent District 3 in this year's Hunger Games! Isn't that exciting?" he asks, as if expecting us to answer.

The square remains completely silent.

"Well, let's get down to business!" Dominic walks over to the girl's reaping bowl and swirls his hand around it for a bit, as if stirring a large bowl of water. After a few moments, he plunges his hand into the bowl and pulls out a name.

He unfolds the paper.

"Lauren Sharp" he announces gleefully. "Any volunteers?"

 **The girl's name has been reaped, and Gyzmo is ready to volunteer**

 **POV: Gyzmo Kressin (District 3 Female)**

Excitement and exhilaration is bubbling inside of me like a newly opened soda bottle. My insides are squiggling around inside me like a worm. I scream as loud as I can.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I yell. Of course, everybody in the district turns their heads towards the source of the cry.

"Well, come up, dear!" Dominic requests encouragingly.

I don't have to push anybody out of the way. Everybody clears a path for me.

I reach the stage, and run up the steps. I stand by Dominic. I look behind me and realize that I was the only volunteer. Not surprising, really. We rarely have volunteers up here in District 3. Almost never, in fact.

"Well, what's your name?" Dominic asks me, shoving the microphone into my face, anxiously awaiting my response. A stupid, childish grin is on his face.

It takes me a while to speak. I need to clog my excitement down and be serious for a moment.

"Gyzmo Kressin" I announce into the microphone confidently.

"Well, Gyzmo, are you excited?" Dominic asks, his disgusting, sugary voice drilling into my ears.

"Very" I reply.

"Well, Gyzmo. We can't send you into the games by yourself, now can we?" he giggles at his own stupid joke. When he realizes that nobody else is laughing, his laughter ceases and he continues speaking.

"Well, now we have to pick a young man to join you in the games!"

He saunters over to the boys reaping bowl before reaching in and picking out a name.

"Cordin Peckham" he reads. "Any volunteers?"

Absolute silence engulfs the square.

 **Cirkyt is about to volunteer into the Hunger Games.**

 **POV: Cirkyt Janik (District 3 Male)**

I don't know why I hesitate to volunteer. Maybe it's because I've been struck with a bit of self-doubt. How could I win against 23 other kids? Maybe it's because I don't want to let my family down if I don't win. And maybe it's just due to the natural, human instinct to be terrified of death.

Somehow, I build up the courage to volunteer. I feel it in my heart. I will bring honor to my district. I will make my family proud. I will open a shop with my family and live the rest of my life in peace.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I yell.

Shocked, the entire square rapidly turns their heads back and forth, searching for the source of the noise.

"Well, come up, dear!" Dominic cries into the microphone.

The chunky, gravel ground crunches under my feet as I run up to the Justice Building steps. It all seems like one long, vivid dream.

"Name?" Dominic asks me, like the host of a game show asks a contestant a question.

"Cirkyt Janik" I announce proudly into the microphone, trying not to shake.

"Well, you two do look very excited to go into the Hunger Games this year!" Dominic announces to me and the girl.

"Very" I say into the microphone. Dominic beams at me.

"Well, come on you two, shake hands!" Dominic requests.

I reach over to Gyzmo and shake her hand gingerly, yet with a firm sense of challenge and competitiveness. She's eighteen. She probably has a higher chance of winning than me. But I can't think about that now. She's my competitor, and I have to treat her as such. Only one of use can live. Maybe neither of us will.

 **Gyzmo is in the Justice Building, receiving visitors**

 **POV: Gyzmo Kressin (District 3 Female)**

As I expected, Mom is the first to come say goodbye. She's more exciting than I though was humanely possible.

"Oh, Gyzmo, you make me so proud!" Mom exclaims. I flinch as she grabs my torso and picks me up for a few seconds. My head gets tangled in her long, red hair.

"Put me down!"

"Gyzmo, I know you can do this. Go into that arena strong and confident. Act confident in your interview, and get a high training score. You'll have no problem with sponsors. They'll be lining up and down the block to give you whatever you need."

She speaks like she's a qualified trainer, which she kind of is. She was the victor of the 51st Hunger Games.

I remember watching her Games on a recorded DVD a few years ago. The arena was a boiling desert, and it was one of the shortest Games in history. She survived with her survival skills, her looks, and her ability to go without water for the longest.

"Gyzmo, look at me" mom requests. The world blurs by for a moment as I turn my head towards her.

"Look at me" she repeats. We lock eyes for ten seconds, absolute silence gripping the room.

A tear starts to form in her big, sea green eyes. It starts off as a small film over the corner of her eye. It grows into a large orb before falling onto the sofa and being absorbed.

"I love you, Gyzmo" she says.

The door booms open and two peacekeepers in stark white uniforms walk in. We both jump in surprise.

As they escort her away, she shoots me a brief backwards glance and mouths words without making any sound at all.

"I love you" she mouths.

They slam the door shut and I lay down on the spring green sofa, enjoying the moment of silence. I guess I do have a chance of winning. I mean, Mom's been training me for the Hunger Games for as long as I can remember. I've always known I would wait until I was eighteen to volunteer, at my peak physical strength.

I jump as the door opens. Another visitor.

 **Gyzmo is receiving her second visitor.**

The door booms open and in walks my brother, David. He's wearing a grey button down shirt. He walks towards where I'm sitting on the pristine, spring green couch.

"Well, well, well. Look who's going into the Hunger Games this year."

He's referring, of course, to the fact that Mom wanted him to volunteer into the Hunger Games. He's much older than me, so he got the opportunity first. But he could never make it; he was never the first to the stage. Now, he wants me to volunteer and get the opportunity he never had.

The one thing I hate about him, though, is that he thinks he knows everything. He thinks he's the smartest person in Panem.

He starts talking. I can tell by the deep, illustrious tone in his voice that he's starting one of his lectures.

"Okay. When you go into the arena, don't forget that all the twenty-three other terrified children are just as determined to win as you are." He smiles as he speaks.

"Okay, Mr. Kressin" I say, jokingly. I roll my eyes.

"The arena could hold anything. It could be a boiling desert. It could be a freezing tundra. It could be a rolling savannah. When you go into the training center to train, don't forget to train for everything, because you never know what dangers could await you in the…"

He's interrupted when the door flies open and two peacekeepers enter.

"Your time's up." They announce to David.

 **Cirkyt is in the Justice Building, receiving visitors.**

 **POV: Cirkyt Janik (District 3 Male)**

Dad wraps his arms around me. I feel the warmth of his body seeping into mine. The room I'm in is rather so his warmth is comforting.

"Oh, Cirkyt. I'm _really_ going to miss you this next month."

I notice how he doesn't say "I'm going to miss you after your dead." I guess he's just trying to be an optimist. He usually is.

"Cirkyt, I believe in you, and I believe that you can go out there and win this thing. But you can't make any silly mistakes. Remember that everybody else in that arena wants to survive. They'll manipulate you however they need to. Don't be fooled. I know you're smart."

Then, he steps away from me. What is he doing? He reaches into his pocket and picks out a screw. About the size of my finger, it's blunt. I guess it could be used for drilling.

"It can be your tribute token" he suggests.

The memories come rushing back. I remember all of the times me and Dad make little trinkets together, and I remember all of the times we made blueprints for our family shop. I remember all of the satisfying moments that we finished a project together, and all of the painful moments of stepping on a nail.

I don't want to leave District 3. I don't want to leave home. But I have to. Now that I'm in this situation, there's only one way to get out—to win. I _will_ be strong and confident. I _will_ be intelligent and resourceful. I _will_ win the Hunger Games. I'll win it for my family, for my friends, and for everybody else that I love.

When the peacekeepers come to take Dad away, he gives me a high-five before the two men grab him from behind and escort him back outside.

When the peacekeepers come to take me away, I go with them calmly. _Smooth and steady wins the race._ I walk with them, smooth and steady.

I smile. Now I know what I'm fighting for.

 **Dominic Bakwin is on the train with the two tributes, discussing the Huger Games and waiting for their mentor to arrive.**

 **POV: Dominic Bakwin (District 3 Escort)**

Gyzmo is tall and attractive, and Cirkyt is short and cute. They both look like fighters. I can see it in their eyes. These two tributes will do well this year.

"So, how exciting is it?" I ask them. "Being able to fight in a Quarter Quell?"

Cirkyt is the first to reply. "It's awesome"

"It sure is!" I reply encouragingly. "You know, it just makes me so happy to see that youngsters like you are so excited to volunteer" I continue. I want them to know how much I care, and I kind of want to hint at the fact that I think they might win.

The door to the car flies open and I turn my head to see the source of the noise. A young man walks into the room, and I recognize him instantly. Joshua day, the victor of the 90th Hunger Games, is now 28 years old. He looks good for his age, with his smooth skin and soft, gentle eyes.

 **Joshua Day is giving the District 3 tributes advice.**

 **POV: Joshua Day (District 3 Mentor and Victor of the 90** **th** **Hunger Games)**

I'm at the head of the table, where Dominic was just sitting before he left. From my perspective, Gyzmo is on the left of the table, and Cirkyt my right.

"Okay, guys" I begin. "There's only two hours before we arrive in the Capitol, so we have to get started. There's no time to waste."

"The first piece of advice I need to give you is the order of your priorities in the arena. In the arena, you have six main priorities for your survival. They are all ranked in order by how essential they are to your survival, so try to obtain them in this order."

I reach into the pocket of my emerald green suit and pull out a piece of paper. I read it aloud to them. It says:

 **1-Water**

 **2-Food**

 **3-Shelter**

 **4-Warmth**

 **5-Getting Sponsors**

 **6-Killing other Tributes**

"As you can see, water is your number one priority. Without water, nothing can survive. Remember that all of the other tributes know this as well, so the arena's water supplies may be under watch. Be stealthy and careful."

"Your second priority is, of course, food. Your best bet is to get it from plants. Always taste a tiny bit of food at a time to see if it's poisoned, and take a course for identifying edible plants during your training."

Over the course of the next two hours, I explain to them all of the ins and outs of being a tribute; all of the things they'll need to know in the arena.

Before I know it, the windows turn black, as they always do when we near the arena.

I love mentoring new tributes. There's one thing I don't like to think about, though, and that is the fact that only one tribute can win. This year is special; both tributes were volunteers, as the Quarter Quell required. Sometimes, the District 3 tributes arrive in the Capitol sobbing and they die on the first day. District 3 is weird that way. We're not an outlying district who never wins, and we're not a Career District. For our tributes, everything that happens in the arena is all up to luck.

And the cruel, twisted whims of fate.

 **Alright! There's 25% of the reapings down. Please review and tell me what you think!**

 **Tribute Profiles:**

 **Name: Cirkyt Janik**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 3**

 **Age: 12**

 **Social Class: Cirkyt's family is among the poorest in District 3**

 **Tribute Token: Screw**

 **Height: 68.1 inches**

 **Weight: 125.8 pounds**

 **Hair: Blond**

 **Eyes: Blue**

 **Likes: Building Machines, Going to School**

 **Dislikes: Waking up Early**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Open up a family shop**

 **Strengths: Intelligence, Stealth**

 **Weaknesses: Weak, Slow, Can't Swim**

 **Fears: Failure**

 **Attitude towards Death: He's too young to fully understand death**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: The monetary prize given to the victor could help his family open up their family shop**

 **Name: Gyzmo Kressin**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 3**

 **Age: 18**

 **Social Class: After her mom won the Hunger Games, their family became the wealthiest in District 3**

 **Tribute Token: Silver Bracelet**

 **Height: 67.9 inches**

 **Weight: 129.0 pounds**

 **Hair: Red**

 **Eyes: Amber**

 **Likes: Children, Being immature and eccentric once and a while**

 **Dislikes: Spiders, Girly Men**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Win the Hunger Games and impress her mom**

 **Strengths: Knife, Throwing Knife, Bow and Arrow, Spear, Machete**

 **Weaknesses: Can't Swim**

 **Fears: Darkness, Pain, Death**

 **Attitude towards Death: She's scared of it, but she knows it's inevitable**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: Her mom and dad have been training her from an early age**

 **Reason for Volunteering: To live up to the example set by her mother, who won the 51** **st** **Hunger Games**

 **Published 5/21/17**


	6. The District 4 Reaping

**Chapter 6: The District 4 Reaping**

 **Nathan Kaputo is eating breakfast with his family the morning of the reaping.**

 **POV: Nathan Kaputo (District 4 Male)**

"Don't wolf down your food" Mom commands, displeased at how I'm shoveling pancakes into my mouth. I love pancakes.

I struggle to get down the huge mouthful of pancakes I have in my mouth before I reply.

"Sorry" I reply.

"So, boys, today's the big day!" Dad reminds us for the millionth time. "Today's the day of the reaping! Remember to train extra hard today. I know one of you will be the first to the stage!" he gushes.

I look around the table of five; mom to my left, dad to my right; Daniel and Matthew opposite from me. My two brothers and I have been going to Combat Academy since we were practically babies. All three of us have tried to volunteer every year, but there's always somebody faster than us.

I take another bite of the delicious pancakes Mom made for breakfast. They're our favorite, and she made them today because it's the morning of the reaping.

Matthew turns his head and looks out the window, and an amazed expression spreads on his face. "Wow, today's such a nice day!" he notices.

 _Captain Obvious move, right there._ I snicker.

"Sure is!" I reply as I walk over to the window and open the shades, trying not to giggle at his observation.

After I sit back down at the table, I turn to Daniel and Matthew and ask them the question that's been on my mind for weeks.

"Are you guys volunteering this year?" I ask them.

There's an awkward silence for a moment, as if they're considering the question.

"We both are" Daniel replies, turning to Matthew.

 _Oh, great. Two more people in my way._ I roll my eyes.

I love training for the Hunger Games, and I love watching them on television, but I'm not what you'd call a career; someone who is trained from an early age to be a conceited, narcissistic killer who murders anything in their path. I think I have fairly high odds of winning.

If one of my brothers doesn't beat me to the stage, that is.

 **January Frable is at Combat Academy, training for the Hunger Games.**

 **POV: January Frable (District 4 Female)**

"Girl, that was sick!" Lily compliments me on my aim as I hand another throwing knife to her.

I have to walk up to the dummy and remove the throwing knife that I threw before Lily can take a turn. It's actually quite difficult to remove; I have to pull it with immense force before it comes out.

Lily gets into an athletic stance and crouches down, holding the knife above her head like some maniac murderer, and chucks the knife at the dummy.

 _Boom!_

It hits the dummy smack dab in the crotch. I am seized with laughter and I fall to the floor, gasping for breath and clawing at the floor with laughter. Lily herself isn't far behind. Just seconds after realizing the region she struck, she falls to the ground and giggles.

We must look incredibly stupid to any passerby. It's not every day that you walk into your local training center to see two teenage girls thrashing around on the floor.

I compose myself and joke "well, if you're in the arena, that'll totally help!"

We burst out laughing once more.

The one thing that is even funnier is that one of us has to go up and remove it. We play rock, paper, scissors, and I lose.

 _Oh, no._ I think as I walk over to the dummy and reach out towards it. At this point, I hear Lilly giggling like a hyena.

"Oh, stop it!" I yell to her playfully, laughing a little bit myself.

 **A few minutes later**

We're on a lunch break right now. I packed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and Lily packed a delicious looking apple pie.

"So, are you volunteering today?" Lily asks me, waiting for my answer. Our voices echo around the huge warehouse like thunder.

I have to wait until I'm done chewing my sandwich before I reply.

"Yeah! I reply. Are you?"

"Totally!" She replies.

Although I would never say this to her face, I think I have a higher chance of winning than she does. I mean, she's a good warrior, but not as good looking as me.

And not as talented.

 **Nathan Kaputo is signing into the reaping.**

 **POV: Nathan Kaputo (District 4 Male)**

A sharp, sudden pinch in the pad of my finger signals that the peacekeeper checking me in has received my blood. He reaches into a file and, after searching around for a while, pulls out a card labeled "Kaputo, Nathan" before smearing my deep red blood onto the card.

"Next!" He announces in a deep, uncomforting voice.

On cue, I get out of the way, walking over to the place for 17 year old males at the reaping. The area is fairly empty, with only a few people here. I made sure to be early to the reaping. You can never be too careful when the punishment for not attending the reaping is death.

 **About an hour later…**

I struggle to read my watch through the glare of the sun. 8:30 a.m. Our escort should emerge shortly, at 8:35. Excitement and exhilaration are bubbling inside of me so strongly I feel like running around in excitement. But I have to stay calm. Calm people are often viewed as stronger. I'll need a lot of strength to win the Hunger Games.

The entire square is instantaneously silenced as the door of the Justice Building booms open. Waltzing over the cement ground like a celebrity walking down a red carpet comes Hephaestus Ackerly, our Capitol escort. He wears a sea green suit and pants, to represent our district's industry: fishing.

"Well, well, well!" He booms into the microphone. "Look what we have here! All of District 4, here to witness the 100th annual reaping ceremony!" his ocean blue hair blows in the wind as he speaks. The wind carries the smell of the sea.

The crowd roars in applause. I whoop and cheer at Hephaestus. I begin to crouch down and prepare to sprint towards the stage.

"Now, before I pick a lovely young man and woman to fight in the games this year, I must first read the treaty of treason, which was created by our ancestors to explain why the Hunger Games exist."

I zone out when he reads the treaty of treason into the microphone. It's so boring. Why can't they just get to the point?

Throughout the next ten minutes or so, we listen to Hephaestus's voice reading the treaty of treason, then a speech from the mayor about the Hunger Games, then a reading of every victor's name from District 4. It takes a while, because we have had 23 victors. Only 14 are still alive.

"Now, without further ado, let's get down to business!" he yells into the microphone.

He walks over to the girl's reaping bowl and picks out a name. He runs his finger along the crease and unfolds the paper.

"I would like to welcome to the stage… Ellie Baker! Any volunteers?"

There is a chorus of "I volunteer as tribute" from the crowd. Hundreds of girls break off of the crowd and run towards the stage.

There are so many volunteers, of course, because District 4 is a career district, where we are trained from an early age to be vicious killers with the sole purpose of surviving the Games.

Only a few moments pass before one tiny girl makes it to the stage. She looks to only be twelve or thirteen. How stupid of her! There has never been a victor as young as her. She looks quite proud, though, on that stage.

"What's your name?" Hephaestus leans over to the girl in a rather creepy manner.

"January Frable" she announces into the microphone proudly and confidently, donning a smile as wide as the moon.

"Well, I believe it's time to pick a lucky guy to join you, eh?" He says.

He saunters over to the boy's reaping bowl before sinking his hand deep into the mass of paper and pulling out a name.

"Emily Jane" Hephaestus announces excitedly. "Volunteers, come right up!"

 **Hephaestus Ackerly is conducting the reaping in District 4.**

 **POV: Hephaestus Ackerly (District 4 Escort)**

It's only a few moments before one young man makes it to the stage. The first thing I notice about him is that he's beautiful: with long, blond hair and sea green eyes. His skin looks perfect. This hottie is basically guaranteed to survive far into the Games.

"Well, young man, what's your name?" I ask him, leaning over to where he stands next to me.

He clutches the microphone and pulls it towards his face. The microphone smacks his mouth, and he revolts in pain.

"You alright, dear?" I ask him in alarm.

"Yeah, I'm fine" he replies with embarrassment. "My name is Nathan Kaputo" he announces.

"Well, shake hands now!" I request encouragingly. It's always important to be encouraging. You never know how these kids might be reacting to this life or death situation they're about to face.

They reluctantly shake hands, both with challenging, murderously vicious looks in their eyes.

"Well, I believe we have collected our tributes! Let's have a big round of applause for January Frable and Nathan Kaputo, our two tributes!" The crowd bursts into applause for a few seconds as expected.

I put on a tone of finality in my voice. "To all of you in the crowd, have fun watching these two fight their way courageously through the Games. To all of you watching this from the Capitol, be sure to buy a ticket for the chariot rides this year. Finally…"

I turn to the two tributes.

"To you two, good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

 **January Frable is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: January Frable (District 4 Female)**

Dad runs into the Justice Building like a child running into a candy shop. He seizes my torso and lifts me up into the air, mumbling about how his daughter is about to become a victor and he thinks that this is the happiest he has ever been in his life.

After he finally puts me down, he stares at me for a while.

"Alright, January. You only have one chance to impress the Capitol audience, so don't blow it! I know you'll win. You're tall and strong, and we didn't send you to Combat Academy for nothing!"

"Thanks, Dad" I reply, because that's all that I can say right now without triggering another lecture from him.

"So, isn't this exciting, getting to be in a Quarter Quell?" I ask him, hoping to calm him down from his giggling fit a little bit.

"Very!" He replies. "And I just know you're going to become the victor this year! You'll become the fourth Quarter Quell victor. I can see it now: your name up in lights as you're welcomed to the Capitol by president Lock himself! I can see you on your victory tour, announcing your victory over fallen tributes, and I can see the moment where you move into the Victor's Village!"

As soon as the peacekeepers escort Dad away, Mom, who comes in behind him, is on cloud nine. She runs up to me and wraps her arms around my torso. My head gets tangled in her dark brown hair and my mind wanders off to somewhere beyond District 4.

"I wish nothing but the best for you when you're in that arena. And remember that those gamemakers are the cruelest and most vicious people imaginable. Just remember how strong you are, both mentally, physically, and emotionally, and I know you'll win. I just know."

After mom leaves, I get three more visitors. The first to come in is Lily, who is as happy as can be about my being a tribute. The next visitor is my Combat Academy teacher, and the third is some random kid from school that I don't know very well anyways.

The door of the small room bursts open and a peacekeeper walks in.

"Your time's up!" He announces as he walks up to me and grabs me from behind.

Once I'm on the train with Nathan and Hephaestus, the train begins moving. I look out the window and watch District 4 disappear. My home is sweeping by faster than my brain can register. I don't want to leave. But I have to. I have to win the Hunger Games and make my family proud.

 **Nathan Kaputo is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Nathan Kaputo (District 4 Male)**

I love my dad. He's such a kind, warm-hearted man. And he's so enthusiastic when other people succeed.

The instant the door opens, dad runs into the room, muttering about how his son is about to win the Hunger Games.

He rushes up to where I stand by the couch and wraps his arms around me, squeezing me so tight that I have to ask him to stop.

"Oh, Nathan, just remember how much you're loved when you're in that arena." He strokes his hand up and down my back with the love that only a father can create.

"And, when you're in the Capitol, here's something to help you remember District 4."

He unwraps his arms from around me and I can finally breathe. He reaches his slender hand down into his pocket and pulls out a fishing hook, like the ones we use here in District 4 to catch seafood to sell.

He reaches his hand out and offers it to me.

"You're tribute token" he suggests.

I know that this isn't planned. This is an act of love. When I'm in the Capitol, when I'm on the train, and when I'm in the arena, I'll remember how much I am loved. And that motivates me even more to win.

 **Katrina Lanworth is giving advice to the District 4 tributes on the train to the Capitol.**

 **POV: Katrina Lanworth (District 4 Mentor and Victor of the 99** **th** **Hunger Games)**

All three of us sit around an ornate glass table. I sit at the head with Nathan on my left and January on my right.

"So guys, how exciting is this? Being able to fight in the Hunger Games? Win this thing and you'll get fame and fortune for life!" I try to sound enthusiastic, but in all honesty I'm getting quite bored of this job and this is only my first year.

"Well, aren't you supposed to give us advice?" Nathan asks impatiently. He stares off into space and fidgets impatiently.

"Oh, yes, of course!" I reply stupidly, pretending to be reminded.

So, my job as an escort is supposed to be the best job in the world, but it's honestly boring. The deal was that if I win the Hunger Games, I get to live out the rest of my days in peace and comfort. But no. Every year, they'll drag me out here and broadcast the details of my entire private life. There's no escape. I only won last year's Hunger Games, and now I have to train two other innocent sociopathic killers who will probably be dead next month. Go figure.

"So, the first thing I'm going to tell you is about how you should spend your training time in the Capitol. How you spend those seven days could mean the difference between your life and death in the arena."

I pretend to be enthusiastic. I hear it in my voice. I don't feel it in my heart.

The two are really paying attention now, their eyes fixed on mine, nodding every few seconds. It almost seems like they're in some weird spell.

"The number one thing I'd suggest you practice is survival skills. You don't know what kind of arena you're going into, but as an active adolescent fighting for your life, you'll need to do a lot of surviving."

"Statistics from past Hunger Games show that only half of tribute deaths are caused by other tributes. That is, you have a fifty percent chance of dying of natural cause."

"Of that fifty percent, forty percent is from dehydration, five percent is from infection, and the other five percent is from other things."

"So, when you're training, be sure to brush up your skills in recognizing edible plant life, as well as your skills in healing herbs and such."

I think back to my Hunger Games last year and a finger of ice rolls down my spine. The only reason I won is because a sponsor gave me a canteen of water and a blanket. I remember shivering in a freezing wasteland, crying at night under a crumbling pine tree. I felt hopeless, and lost. I tried to kill myself just to dismiss myself from the pain twice. But a sponsor took pity on me. If it hadn't been for them, I most certainly would have died.

I most certainly hope that doesn't happen to these two.

 **There you go! This chapter was really fun to write, and now one third of the reapings are done. Please review and tell me what you think!**

 **Tribute Profiles:**

 **Name: Nathan Kaputo**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 4**

 **Age: 17**

 **Social Class: Nathan's family is among the wealthiest in District 4**

 **Tribute Token: Fishing Hook**

 **Height: 68.9 inches**

 **Weight: 152 pounds**

 **Hair: Blond**

 **Eyes: Sea Green**

 **Likes: Training for the Hunger Games, Hanging out with Friends, Combat Academy**

 **Dislikes: Loud flushing toilets**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Win the Hunger Games**

 **Strengths: Swimming, Running, Climbing, Identifying Edible Plants, Knife, Sword, Machete, Bow, Stealth, Slingshot, Intelligence**

 **Weaknesses: Can't jump high**

 **Fears: Heights, the Dark**

 **Attitude towards Death: He isn't going down without a fight**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: 8 years at Combat Academy**

 **Reason for Volunteering: Combat Academy**

 **Name: January Frable**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 4**

 **Age: 12**

 **Social Class: January's family is middle class in District 4**

 **Tribute Token: Wooden Bead Bracelet**

 **Height: 62.1 inches**

 **Weight: 100.0 pounds**

 **Hair: Brown**

 **Eyes: Stormy Grey**

 **Likes: Hanging out with friends, training for the Hunger Games**

 **Dislikes: Cooking, Rainstorms**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Win the Hunger Games (I know, again. This one will be more interesting for the non-career Districts)**

 **Strengths: Knife, Bow, Machete, Speed, Stealth**

 **Weaknesses: Weak, Young**

 **Fears: Snakes**

 **Attitude towards Death: It has to come one day!**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: 9 years at Combat Academy**

 **Reason for Volunteering: Combat Academy Training**

 **Published 5/28/17**


	7. The District 5 Reaping

**Chapter 7-The District 5 Reaping**

 ** _Note: Sorry for the unusually short chapter; I was busy with school. Enjoy!_**

 **Dorian Bacchmuth is training for the Hunger Games in his basement.**

 **POV: Dorian Bacchmuth (District 5 Male)**

They say that I'm crazy. Maybe I am. All I know is that I'm volunteering today.

I've been training for the Games for as long as I can remember. I've been throwing knifes and spears at cloth dummies for eight years now. Before that I threw butter knifes at the kitchen wall. I'm more than prepared. I was born prepared.

I pick up the throwing knife and hold it right in front of my face. I crouch down into an athletic stance before lunging my hand forward and chucking the knife at the cloth dummy as hard as I can. It cuts through the air before colliding with the dummy. The sound echoes around the basement like thunder.

I guess I've been practicing throwing knifes for a little too long now. I look at the time—six o'clock. I look around at all of the makeshift stations I have set up. Javelin throwing, spear throwing, running, swimming, which do I choose?

I finally decide on weight lifting. After all, I'll need to be pretty muscular to survive the Hunger Games. Right now I have the bench press set on 285 pounds. I've been setting it up by five pounds each day.

After I'm done with my training, I run upstairs and quickly take a shower. After that, all I can do is put on something that isn't work wear and hurry off to the reaping in the boiling heat.

 **Ambrosia Clemens is eating breakfast with her brother.**

 **POV: Ambrosia Clemens (District 5 Female)**

I hate my parents.

I'm not one of those moody teenagers who complain about the stupidest of things. I hate my parents for justifiable reasons. My parents are sick, twisted people. As far as I know, they didn't even want me to exist.

Worst of all, last year they abandoned me and my brother Atom to move to the Capitol. Now we live alone in a house with no water and no electricity, getting paid tiny amounts of money to sweep the street or to mop the floor of the corner shop, trying to make enough to eat. The only time we ever get electricity is when the Hunger Games are live; kind of ironic, because we're the District that makes power.

"Can you pass the can opener?" I request from Atom, looking down at my sealed can of canned oranges. Oranges are super expensive here because they have to be shipped all the way from District 11. However, on Sundays, even though we make exactly the same amount, everyone eats something a little bit more expensive.

"Yeah, sure" Atom replies as he hands me the can opener. I take it from him, set it on the ridge of my can, and begin turning the handle.

"So, about the reaping today…" He looks up at me and his ocean blue eyes settle on mine. It takes me a while to bring myself to say it. "I'm volunteering."

At this, he gasps and drops his fork right onto the plate, his mouth wide open like a cave in the side of a mountain, his eyes keen and alert.

"You can't" he replies with awe.

"I can and I will" I reply assertively, but it's hard to hide the nervousness of letting out a plan I've been formulating for weeks. "Our parents abandoned us to move to the Capitol. Anybody greedy and selfish enough to do that is no parent to me. I'll go in the Hunger Games. I'll win this thing and prove to them that I'm not just a toy for them to ignore and play around with for their own amusement."

 **Dorian Bacchmuth is signing into the reaping.**

 **POV: Dorian Bacchmuth (District 5 Male)**

I used to hate the reaping when I was younger. Since nobody I knew was ever reaped, it just wasn't interesting for me. Also, Aphrodite Rollins, our escort, is so flamboyant that she could probably be a clown if she wanted to.

"Finger?" The peacekeeper demands.

I reach out my finger nervously before he violently jabs the syringe into my finger and sucks out a pool of amber blood.

"Next!" He proclaims. I'm already walking over to the spot for 18 year-old males at the reaping. I stand in a group with a bunch of my peers and impatiently wait for the reaping to begin. I see a few kids that I know from school, but not many.

I'm so bored and excited that I decide to pass the time by seeing how high I can count on my fingers. I get to about 728 when I'm jerked back into reality. The square is immediately silenced as Aphrodite Rollins, our escort, waltzes out of the Justice Building with the grace of a dancer.

Aphrodite saunters over to the tiny microphone, and pulls out two notecards from the pocket of her flamboyant pink dress.

"Welcome, welcome, Happy Hunger Games, and welcome to the 100th annual reaping ceremony in District 5!"Aprodite has the thickest Capitol accent I've ever heard, and I have to struggle to understand her speech.

"Now, before we begin, we have a very special speech in store for you! We must now read aloud the treaty of treason, which describes to all of you why the Hunger Games exist."

She begins reading the boring paragraph we've heard thousands of times.

 _"In penance for their uprising, every District of Panem will provide one young man and woman to fight to the death in an annual competition known as the Hunger Games. These 'tributes' will be delivered to the custody of the Capitol, where they will be entered into an arena and fight to the death. The lone victor, bathed in riches, will serve as a symbol of strength, courage, honor and sacrifice. Long live Panem, long live the Capitol."_

 **Aphrodite Rollins is conducting the reaping ceremony in District 5.**

 **POV: Aphrodite Rollins (District 5 Escort)**

"Now, the time has arrived for us to select one courageous young man and woman to be bestowed with the upmost honor of representing District 5 in the fourth Quarter Quell!"

A few polite people clap. District 5's tributes are not usually volunteers. There might be a handful of them every few years.

"Now, as you can see, we have these two beautiful reaping bowls with all of your beautiful names in them. However, nobody will be allowed to leave until one young man and woman have volunteered to take the place of the ones I reap shortly."

"As usual, ladies first!" I perambulate over to the girl's reaping bowl, reach inside and finger through the papers for a while, and pull one out. I carry the paper back to the microphone, run my finger along the crease, and, in front of all of District 5, read the name aloud.

"Nina Rangecroft" I announce gleefully. "Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer as tribute!" yells one voice in the back of the square. Her cry is barely audible from the stage. The only reason that I can hear it is because the square is made out of stone; her voice echoes.

Quickly, I grab the microphone and yell. "Well come on up!"

My excitement is instantly shattered. Within a few minutes, the most pathetic excuse for a tribute I've ever seen walks onto the stage. Her hair is messy, and her clothes are dirty and torn. She must be poor, or an orphan. I feel bad for her.

I put on a smile and pretend to be excited. "Well, young lady, can you give us a name? I hand her the microphone and she takes it.

"Ambrosia Clemens" she proclaims nervously. I can see that she's shaking.

"Well, Ambrosia, I think it's time for the guys, eh?" I walk over to the boy's reaping bowl. This time, I pick a slip off of the very top of the bowl. I usually pick one out that's buried deep in the pile. But it just feels right this time.

"Wyatt Harper!" I announce after unfolding the paper. "Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer as tribute!" announces a confident voice at the very back of the crowd.

"Well, come on up!" I say into the microphone. People turn their heads to watch him run by, the gravel ground crumbling under his feet. He runs up to the Justice Building steps and stands right next to me.

"Wow! Can you give us a name?" I ask, averting the microphone to his direction.

"Dorian Bacchmuth"

"Well, Dorian, are you excited?"

"Very!" He replies viciously, showing his teeth.

"Woah, woah! Don't get carried away now; you'll have plenty of time for that in the arena!" I joke.

I turn towards the two tributes. Ambrosia stands directly to my left and Dorian to her left. Dorian looks rather vicious. Ambrosia just looks poor and depressed. I feel bad for her. She'll never see her family again. If she even has a family.

"Well, come on you two, shake hands!"

The two shake hands. I turn back towards the audience, and the audience looks back, thousands of faces relieved that they'll live another year.

"Let's have a big round of applause for Ambrosia Clemens and Dorian Bacchmuth, our two tributes from District 5!" The crowd claps, but there's no whoops or cheers. They're just being polite. I can tell from the looks on their faces.

I don't see why people in these districts see the Hunger Games as a death sentence; fame and fortune for life await the last man standing. However, I can see how this could be upsetting, not being able to see your family or friends at all for a month.

If you ever see them again, that is.

 **Dorian Bacchmuth is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Dorian Bacchmuth (District 5 Male)**

My friend Magnus throws his arms around my body, grasping my torso and knocking the wind out of me.

"Alright, bro, you got this!" he says.

"You've been training for this thing your entire life. I know you'll win. You're eighteen years old, and you're really tall."

"Thanks!" I reply.

"As soon as you go into that arena, get to food and water as fast as possible!" he suggests as if instructing a student.

"Of course!" I reply.

"Find a good hiding place and find clean water."

"I'll do that too."

Once the peacekeepers leave and carry Magnus away, I can finally have some time to think about what I'm committing to. I'm ready for this. I have to be ready. I was born ready.

A smile grows on my face. Weak at first, it grows and grows into a wide, toothy grin.

I can win this thing. I'll bring pride to my family and honor to District 5.

 **Ambrosia Clemens is waiting for visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Ambrosia Clemens (District 5 Female)**

As I expected, nobody comes to say goodbye. The only person I'm close to, Atom, had to run off to work mopping the floor of the corner shop right after the reaping.

At one point, a peacekeeper pokes his head in. I tell him that I know nobody will come and that he can just take me to the Capitol now.

"You have to wait for visitors" he replies harshly before slamming the door shut and leaving.

I sigh as I lie down on the ornate spring-green couch, savoring the moment of silence.

 **Rendwhick Overwhill is instructing the tributes on the train to the Capitol.**

 **POV: Rendwhick Overwhill (District 5 Mentor and Victor of the 96** **th** **Hunger Games)**

This is my fourth year as the District 5 mentor, and so far, all of the tributes I've mentored have died in the games. They were all reaped, forced to enter the Hunger Games, and split from their families forever.

But I can't think about that know. I have to treat each new set of tributes as a new opportunity.

"So, how excited are you to represent your district this year?" I ask the two tributes, pretending to be enthusiastic.

"Very!" Dorian replies, a grin spreading across his face.

"Me too" replies Ambrosia. I can tell she's lying. With her beat-up clothes and body, she looks as poor as can be. I'll be darned if I can figure out why she volunteered.

"Aren't you supposed to give us advice?" Dorian asks impatiently.

"Oh, yes, of course!" I reply, pretending that he just reminded me of this. In reality, I was just putting this off for as long as possible. I don't like thinking about the Games any more than I have to.

"So, the first and most important piece of advice I can give you is to learn how to use a knife in the training center. If you look at the strategies of all past victors, almost all of them were skilled with knives. Be sure to brush up on all of them, including machetes, throwing knifes, and swords."

"The second thing I'll recommend is for you to brush up on your survival skills. When you're in the wilderness, being able to start a fire or identify edible plants could mean the difference between your life and your death."

"Also, be sure to seem funny and witty during your interview. That'll make sponsors like you."

"Finally, don't kill unless you absolutely have to."

Dorian smirks. I can tell that he's probably trained for this before, and he's not planning on following my advice.

"If you kill lots of tributes early on, you'll establish yourself as a threat. So, the other tributes will try to hunt you down and kill you in an attempt to eliminate the biggest threat to their survival. The outlying Districts look up to you and the Career districts look down on you. Establish yourself as strong, funny, and as an interesting person, and you're sure to win."

The one thing I don't tell them is that, no matter how much they prepare and how much they train, they probably won't win. And that's what scares me more than anything.

 **There are the District 5 tributes; the reapings are almost half way over. Please review and tell me what you think!**

 **Tribute Profiles:**

 **Name: Dorian Bacchmuth**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 5**

 **Age: 18**

 **Social Class: Dorian's family is among the wealthiest in District 5**

 **Tribute Token: Metal Rod**

 **Height: 75.4 inches**

 **Weight: 169.2 pounds**

 **Hair: Brown**

 **Eyes: Blue**

 **Likes: Training for the Hunger Games**

 **Dislikes: Sappy romance stories**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Win the Hunger Games (yes, this again)**

 **Strengths: Knife throwing, Stealth, Survival Skills, Bow and Arrow, Intelligence, Climbing, Swimming, Running**

 **Weaknesses: Bad Hearing**

 **Fears: Death**

 **Attitude towards Death: It's his greatest fear, but he's not going down without a fight**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: Personal Training in his Basement**

 **Reason for Volunteering: Training**

 **Name: Ambrosia Clemens**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 5**

 **Age: 13**

 **Social Class: Ambrosia lives alone with her brother, and is very poor; she is an orphan**

 **Tribute Token: Silver Necklace**

 **Height: 71.0 inches**

 **Weight: 100.0 pounds**

 **Hair: Long and Brown, messy**

 **Eyes: Amber**

 **Likes:**

 **Dislikes: Spiders, the Dark, her parents that abandoned her to move to the Capitol**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Avenge her parents and prove her strength to them**

 **Strengths: Stealth**

 **Weaknesses: Can't run, Can't swim, Can't Climb**

 **Fears: Letting others down**

 **Attitude towards Death: She would prefer it to the horrible life she's living**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: Avenge her parents and escape poverty**

 **Published: 6/4/17**


	8. The District 6 Reaping

**Chapter 8-The District 6 Reaping**

 **Anna Kerkelie is visiting the grave of her sister.**

 **POV: Anna Kerkelie (District 6 Female)**

I know the tribute graveyard too well. Situated in the back of the victor's village, it serves as the final resting place of all the innocent children that died during the Hunger Games. So far, there are 200 installations.

I caress my hand over the gravestone. Its cold stone surface seems to reflect all of the heat that touches it. Ironic, really, because the night is rather warm.

Tears cloud my vision as I run my finger over the words embossed into the stone.

 _Darla Kerkelie, aged 12. Died in the 99_ _th_ _Hunger Games; speared by District 1 female. Scored 3_ _rd._

She was my little sister, the one who I loved more than anything else in the world. Suppressed memories come rushing back of the two of us picking wildflowers in the meadow.

 _"If it has three leaves, and one is on a separate stalk, don't touch it"_ I told her. I taught her everything I knew. She was my partner.

Then, last year, the escort pulled her name from the reaping bowl, and a black worm of dread formed in my stomach. I had a horrible throat infection then, so I couldn't speak. I couldn't volunteer to help her. The innocent, sweet little girl was killed by the ruthless Capitol for no reason.

So many emotions are clashing inside me that I feel like screaming. I feel like lying on the cold hard ground and contemplating the fact that our lives don't matter because one day we'll all be gone. I feel like sobbing until there's no tears left in me and letting myself be consumed. I wish there was a dark, black hole for me to fall into and never be seen again.

On one hand, I'm filled with depression and sadness that my sister is gone. On the other hand, I feel rage for the Capitol. Yes, I feel rage so strong that my face turns red and I can't see straight.

I will volunteer tomorrow. I'll show them that I'm more than just a piece of their games. I'll show them that there's a part of me they can never control.

 **Michael Leftwich is at his orphanage the morning of the reaping.**

 **POV: Michael Leftwich (District 6 Male)**

Life at the orphanage really isn't so bad. I mean, there's always enough food to eat, and there's always a bed for everybody. My roommate Cooper isn't so bad either.

But, I've always felt some sort of emptiness inside. I've always felt like I'm just a shell of who I could be, living a meaningless life in which nobody really loves me or cares about me. I myself can't say if there's anybody else that I love.

"Hey, Michael, how many times is your name in this year?" Cooper asks with a somber expression. We're both lying on the couch, watching highlights from last year's games, the one that the girl from 4 won.

He is asking, of course, how many times my name is in the reaping this year.

"19" I reply sadly.

"Oh, that's a bummer. Mine's only in thirteen times." Cooper continues.

"Hey, did you see how many envelopes were in that box that President Lock opened?" Cooper asks.

"Yeah! There were hundreds of them! Whoever conceived the idea of the Hunger Games had had plans in place for thousands of games" the thought makes me sick to my stomach. That's thousands of innocent children killed in the Games.

I look at the clock situated on the bottom-right corner of the television, while some death scene is occurring on the screen. Seven o'clock.

"Oh, we'd better hurry off to the reaping now! We don't want to miss it!" I yell at him in alarm.

"Yeah! Remember what happened last year when we were one minute late to the reaping and Mrs. Oswald yelled at you?" Cooper reminds me of how the lady running the orphanage yelled at me last year.

 _"If you had been a second later, those peacekepers would have beaten you up!"_ She screamed at me. I cringe at the thought.

Quickly, we get up and shuffle around the house. As swiftly as possible I take a shower and hurry off to the reaping.

As I'm walking down the sidewalk to the Justice Building, something clicks in my mind. It's as if there's a voice deep inside me telling me what to do.

 _You know, you could volunteer._ The voice says. All of the sudden, I'm sucked into it and it's the only thing I can think about. _You could escape this life, and live the rest of your days in peace and happiness. Nobody loves you or cares about you. You're just one orphan in thousands._

A grin spreads across my face.

 **Hecate Hablitz is conducting the reaping ceremony in District 6.**

 **POV: Hecate Hablitz (District 6 Escort)**

District 6 has a massive population; the largest of any district. At a grand total of 1.4 million people, the odds of any person getting reaped might as well be zero. But that won't matter this year, because both of the tributes have to be volunteers.

I read the treaty of treason aloud to the crowd.

"Well, well, well, let's get down to business!" I yell into the microphone.

I saunter over to the girl's reaping bowl before sinking my hand into the mass of slips and pulling one out. Special reaping slips have to be made for District 6. They're really small, because the population is so large; barely the size of my fingernail.

I briskly shuffle back over to the microphone and fumble with the paper for a while before scanning over the crowd and smiling. The tiny paper makes a satisfying sound as I break the seal and open it.

"Veronica Smith!" I announce gleefully. "Any volunteers?"

A tiny sound comes from the back of the crowd, and I really have to focus to hear it at all. It's probably a volunteer.

My suspicions are confirmed when; running through the isle comes a small girl in a sea-green dress. She runs up the Justice Building steps and stands at my side, with a smile as wide as the moon.

"Can you give us a name?" I ask her, leaning down to hand her my microphone.

"Anna Kerkelie" she replies.

"Well, I guess it's time to pick a guy to join you."

I walk over to the boy's reaping bowl and pick out a slip of paper. I mumble to myself as I fumble with the paper before unfolding it and squinting to read the tiny handwriting.

"Markus Gardd. Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer as tribute!" comes a young voice from the front of the crowd. Within seconds, he's up on the stage standing right next to me.

"What's your name, young man?"

"Michael Leftwich"

"Well, Michael, are you excited?"

"Very." He replies in a bland voice.

"Well, let's have a big hand for our two tributes, Anna Kerkelie and Michael Leftwich!"

Polite clapping ensues from the crowd.

After the two shake hands and are pulled into the Justice Building by peacekeepers, I saunter off of the stage and walk to the train, where I will meet with the tributes on their way to the Capitol.

 **Michael Leftwich is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Michael Leftwich (District 6 Male)**

As I expected, the only person to come say goodbye is Cooper. After all, he's the only person close to me in any way.

The instant the door bursts open, I run up to him and hug him. I don't even think about it; it's like my feet have a mind of their own. I've never really hugged him before. I guess it's weird for boys to hug each other.

"Alright, alright." Cooper says, and I pull away.

After I pull away, we look into each other's eyes for a moment.

"I know you can win this thing. You have really good aim."

I think back to the time when the orphanage let us play archery outside. I remember hitting bulls-eye with 94 percent accuracy from 20 meters away.

I try to reassure myself that everything will be okay. I try to reassure myself that I have a chance of winning, but my heart beats faster and I'm shaking all the same.

"Listen. You go into that arena and grab a bow and arrow. I don't care where it's from; make your own if you need to."

"Okay." I reply.

"Hide, and only kill when you have to."

"Okay."

"Make sponsors like you."

"Okay."

"You need to have more faith in yourself" he yells, and I can tell that he's frustrated for some reason. I guess he's frustrated that I don't think I can win. And he's right, because with this mentality, I won't.

"Okay." I reply, "I can win this. I know I can."

"That's the Michael I know!" He replies, grinning.

I grin back.

 **Anna Kerkelie is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Anna Kerkelie (District 6 Female)**

Mom sits on the couch right next to me and hugs me. I feel her warmth seeping into my body and spreading through my bones.

"I'm sorry I volunteered" I moan through a sob.

"No, honey, don't be sorry."

"I don't want to die!" I moan, louder this time. How can I win this? There are so many older and stronger kids from the career districts. What was I thinking?

"Look at me!" mom demands harshly, and I turn my face towards hers. We lock eyes for a few seconds, before she breaks and starts crying too.

"Listen! I lost Darla to the Hunger Games last year. I can't lose you. I won't lose you. You have to win."

"Thanks" I mutter through my sob. I wonder if they're recording us right now. I mean, the room is certainly tapped, but will this be posted for viewing? If so, I've got to act strong and confident.

My crying ceases almost instantaneously at this thought.

When the peacekeepers come in and carry mom away, I'm left in absolute silence; so silent that I can hear the footsteps of people outside. I'm so nervous that I can feel my heart beating in my chest.

The silence is eerie. It's weird. I focus on it, and explore its depth. This is a meditation method I learned when I was younger for when I'm nervous or scared. If this doesn't count as being nervous or scared, then I don't know what does.

For a while, I'm in a weird trance, infatuated by the silence's depth and form. It has shape. It has form. It has feelings. It has a name.

When the peacekeepers come to take me away to the Capitol, I feel so many emotions at once. I'm worried, of course, that I'm going up against 23 other kids and that the odds of my winning are not high, but I also feel a strange, almost eerie sense of peace. I've accepted the fact that I won't live much longer. Acceptance is usually the first stage of overcoming any obstacle, isn't it?

 **Lennis Erwhin is instructing the tributes on the train to the Capitol.**

 **POV: Lennis Erwhin, District 6 Mentor and Victor of the 80** **th** **Hunger Games**

In the 19 years that I've been a mentor for District 6, we have had one victor, a boy that won Games only a few years after mine. We haven't had a victor in eighteen years, and it looks like that number is about to become nineteen.

Anna sits to my left. Short, petite, and weak; her main weapon will be her stealth. I'm not saying that that's a bad plan. It's just that you can't win against those sociopathic killers from the career districts if you can't use a weapon.

Michael isn't much better. He's much younger than Anna, and much weaker-looking. His long blond hair is messy, and his deep brown eyes show that he's extremely nervous.

"So, guys, how do you feel about this?" I ask them both, glancing at them both.

"Fine" Anna says plainly, fidgeting with her shirt. To be honest, I'm surprised she isn't more upset. Darned if I can figure out why she volunteered.

"I'm okay" Michael continues. He's much more nervous than Anna. His face is red and his pupils are big, like the eyes of prey in a forest. I can practically hear his heart beating, and, although I might be imagining it, I can see him shaking.

"So, guys, the reason I'm here is to give you advice about what to do in the arena." The two look up, and I almost give up to the sheer hopelessness of the looks on their faces.

"Hey, a little optimism can't hurt" I encourage. "It's fame and fortune for life if you win."

"Anyways, the number one thing to do in the arena is this. Listen to this one piece of advice, and obey it at all costs. It is this: as soon as that gong rings, you get your butt as far away from the cornucopia as possible. Statistics from previous games show that almost half of tributes die in the cornucopia. I don't care if there's a fantastic weapon ten feet from you; run straight away and your odds of winning ultimately skyrocket."

"Secondly, get some allies. You two could get into an alliance, along with some other tributes from the poorer Districts like 7 and 8."

"The one thing to be careful about in an alliance is the fact that anybody can betray. An alliance isn't a binding agreement, and no tribute will let the fact that they shook your hand on something get in the way of their returning home."

"In the Hunger Games, you don't get to be the second person to betray your group. Anyone who isn't first is dead, full stop."

"Why would we want to have an alliance at all, then?" Anna asks. Her nervous voice shakes as she speaks.

"Well, when you're in an alliance, there's a much higher chance that one of you will be carrying food and other essentials when you need them most."

She nods and looks back down at her lap. She's fighting back tears now, and Michael's doing the same.

I honestly can't blame them. This is extremely stressful for both of them. I know because it was for me. I myself almost cry as I have a flashback to my Hunger Games.

Even though it was many years ago, I still remember it to a creepily high degree; our escort reached her hand into the reaping bowl and read my name. I remember being entered into the arena, a muddy swamp, and feeling hopeless myself. I even contemplated stepping off of my pod before the games stared just to get my inevitable death over with.

There were so many tall and strong kids that year. The odds had been entirely against me, but it hadn't mattered. I won.

All of the sudden, a tiny spark of hope forms inside of me. If I, a helpless and weak fourteen year old, can win the Hunger Games, why can't these two?

"Michael and Anna?" I attract their attention. "I need to talk to you about something."

 **There's the District 6 tributes! I felt completely evil writing this chapter, and I had a minor existential crisis writing Anna's point of view when she's visiting her sister's grave. Anyways, the reapings are halfway over! I'll continue with the reapings until I finish them. Shortly after I upload the District 12 reaping, I'll post a "reaping recap" which summarizes all of the tributes at a glance. Please review and tell me what you think!**

 **Tribute Profiles:**

 **Name: Michael Leftwich**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 6**

 **Age: 14**

 **Social Class: Michael lives at an orphanage; therefore he is poor. However, he always has enough food to eat and a bed to sleep on.**

 **Tribute Token: Metal cube**

 **Height: 68.1 inches**

 **Weight: 125.1 pounds**

 **Hair: Long and blond**

 **Eyes: Deep blue**

 **Likes: Rain, Sun, Documentaries, Brownies, Day**

 **Dislikes: The Dark, Singing, Dancing**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Escape the Orphanage**

 **Strengths: Aim**

 **Weaknesses: Can't run fast, can't swim**

 **Fears: Not being good enough**

 **Attitude towards Death: He's pretty religious and thinks he'll join his dead parents in whatever comes next.**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: Escape the orphanage and live a peaceful life in the Capitol.**

 **Name: Anna Kerkelie**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 6**

 **Age: 17**

 **Social Class: Anna's family is middle class in District 6.**

 **Tribute Token: Locket**

 **Height: 68.3 inches**

 **Weight: 123.4 pounds**

 **Hair: Brown**

 **Eyes: Amber**

 **Likes: Chocolate**

 **Dislikes: Death, Darkness, War**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Avenge the Capitol (who killed her sister Darla)**

 **Strengths: Fast Runner, Stealth**

 **Weaknesses: Can't Swim**

 **Fears: Death, The Dark**

 **Attitude towards death: She's very scared of it**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: Avenge the Capitol and prove to them that they can't control her rebellious spirit.**

 **Published 6/10/17**


	9. The District 7 Reaping

**Chapter 9-The District 7 Reaping**

 **Grover Huttchings is stealing food for his family from a warehouse.**

 **POV: Grover Huttchings (District 7 Male)**

I can't say I'm an honest person, because that simply isn't true. And I can't say that I don't steal food from the food warehouse every day, because that isn't true either.

I always have to monitor the flow of peacekeepers carefully, so that I know the right time to enter the building when there are the fewest peacekeepers around. There's a rusty old door in the back that I use.

I reach out and cringe at the texture of the rusty old handle before twisting my hand clockwise. An unpleasant creaking sound precedes the door opening.

This is the room for produce. In front of me is a huge bag of peas; next to it is a bag of corn; next to it is a bag of green beans.

I grin as I crawl onto the ground and reach my hand out to grab the bag of corn. I grasp the side of the bag and feel the lumps of corn inside.

"Fresh from District 11" it reads.

This is the peacekeepers food supply; the food they eat when they're on break or out for whatever reason. If they discovered me here, I would most certainly be executed. But I take infinite care possible and take every precaution to ensure that doesn't happen.

I pick up the heavy bag and open the back door again. I look out to see if there are any peacekeepers around: the coast is clear.

I dart away from the rusty old warehouse with a grin on my face. My family will be able to eat today. As I scamper away, a small red light lands on my shoulder, followed by an intense beeping. They've found me.

I'm breathing adrenaline as I'm filled with panic so strong that I run faster than I have in my entire life. Gasping for breath, my feet bounce up and down off of the ground, but the red light and the beeping follow me wherever I go.

I disappear into the village where my family lives only moments after a peacekeeper shouts angrily in the distance.

That night at dinner, I pretend not to be nervous or scared. I mean, it's like a double whammy today; tomorrow is reaping day, and tomorrow I will most likely be jailed or worse for being caught stealing corn.

"You seem so quiet, Grover" Mom says, concerned.

"Yeah, what's wrong?" Dad asks next.

"Nothing" I reply blandly. I'm trying to be positive, really I am. But it's difficult to be positive when the police force is hunting you down and your family doesn't know.

"You're lying" Kennedy says from across the table. She's my only sibling, and she's creepily good at reading people's feelings. Like, if one day I'm feeling angry or scared, she'll somehow know what I'm feeling based on my gestures or facial expressions or something.

It's like she has red lasers in her eyes like a superhero.

I'd prefer not to think about red lasers right now.

That night I get a letter in the mail. It's a small letter in an enveloped ingrained with the Capitol insignia.

I unfold it in the bathroom where nobody can see me, uncertain of what's inside. I wonder what the Capitol would want my attention for, and then I remember that they caught me stealing corn. A black worm of dread crawls in my stomach and I feel like vomiting, but I open the letter all the same.

I read the loopy cursive handwriting to myself.

 _Dear Mr. Grover Huttchings:_

 _It has come to our attention that you have illegally stolen fresh corn from warehouse B, Sector 1 of District 7. We have caught you preforming the same illegal act every day for the past week, but we wanted to see if you would continue the practice: you did. This is a very serious crime punishable by death. However, we would like to offer you a second chance to redeem yourself. As punishment for this heinous act, you will be required to enter the Hunger Games this year as the District 7 male._

 _Sincerely, President Caligula Lock_

What? They've caught me doing this for a week? I've been doing this for three years! I guess they must have only recently set up surveillance cameras.

That night, when I show my parents the letter, they ball their eyes out and scream for hours.

I hear them both crying all night from my bedroom.

 **Amber Symons is on lunch break with her friend Bellatrix.**

 **POV: Amber Symons (District 7 Female)**

I honestly don't mind working in the lumber fields. I mean, it's actually kind of fun. I get to let out my destructive energy by slamming trees with axes. Plus, the scenery is beautiful (minus the occasional peacekeeper).

Bellatrix packed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich today. I packed one too, but I also packed some grapes. District 7 is quite poor; but we two are quite wealthy. I've never taken tesserae and Bellatrix has only taken it once, for her sick grandmother.

"So, what are your thoughts about the reaping tomorrow?" Bellatrix asks, taking a bite out of her sandwich.

"Oh, I'm totally volunteering!" I announce, maybe a little too loud. At this, the entire lawn instantly goes silent and everybody stares at me. It's really awkward.

It only lasts for a few seconds, though.

"Really? Bellatrix asks, astonished. Her mouth is wide open.

"Yeah, really!" I reply, a brilliant glimmer of madness forming in my stormy grey eyes.

"Oh, totally! I tried to volunteer last year, but there was an eighteen year old who volunteered that year, and I figured she would have much higher odds of winning than me, so I just said 'screw it' and didn't bother."

I think back to last year's games; the girl died anyways.

"You know, District 7 hasn't had a victor in twenty-four years; our last victor was that Olivia girl that went crazy and lit the whole arena on fire." Bellatrix tries to sway me. "Do you really want to do this?"

"Sure, I guess I'll have to break that streak" I answer.

So, I've been formulating this plan in my head for months now, putting together ideas about it every day. Here's the plan that I've set up.

Step 1, volunteer. I know I have a high chance of winning because a) I've been working with axe and saw my entire life, and b) I have a fierce temper and edgy attitude. Some people call me the second Johanna Mason. Johanna was a girl that won the games about thirty years ago, but died in the third quarter quell.

Step 2, get a high training score. I'll show the gamemakers by axe throwing skills and they'll be so astonished that they'll have to give me a high score.

Step 3, grab a few weapons from the cornucopia and then run away. It's the best strategy. You get some weapons to help you kill other tributes, but your odds of winning skyrocket if you get away from all of the action as soon as possible.

If I do everything correctly, all of the other tributes won't have a prayer of winning.

 **Amber is at the reaping.**

Mercury Backwin doesn't look like an escort. His hair is short and dark brown, and he looks like he has had no plastic surgery at all. He isn't even wearing makeup. He just looks like a normal guy.

The only thing peculiar about him is his strange voice. He talks fast and high pitched, vibrating his voice up and down rapidly as he speaks, like a stock broker or an auctioneer.

"Welcome! Thank you all for coming! Welcome to the 100th annual reaping ceremony in District 7!" he announces into the microphone. The square remains silent, and he frowns.

"Well, are we excited?" He gushes once more.

A few polite people clap or cheer, but they're just being polite; I can tell. I honestly can't pretend that the reapings are anything more than depressing.

"Well, without further ado, let's get out the treaty of treason and read it, eh?" he pulls out a small note card barely the size of my hand, squints to read the tiny handwriting, and reads the speech aloud.

 _"In penance for their uprising, every District of Panem will provide one young man and woman to fight to the death in an annual competition known as the Hunger Games. These 'tributes' will be delivered to the custody of the Capitol, where they will be entered into an arena and fight to the death. The lone victor, bathed in riches, will serve as a symbol of strength, courage, honor and sacrifice. Long live Panem, long live the Capitol."_

He drops the card back into his enormous pocket and clutches the microphone again.

"Now, the part you've all been waiting for, the reaping!"

He shuffles over to the girl's reaping bowl. He swirls his hand around the bowl for a while as if deciding which slip to grab, before finally plunging his hand into the bowl and picking one out.

At this point, I'm already on the ground in a stance where I'm ready to run, hypnotized by the Justice Building. Exhilaration is bubbling inside of me like fizzy bubbles building up inside of a bottle.

And my cap is about to burst.

Mercury walks back over to the microphone, breaks the seal, and runs his finger along the crease of the tightly folded slip of paper. He unfolds it, scans over the crowd with his young, shallow eyes; and reads the paper out loud for all to hear.

"Leah Holden" he announces. Any volunteers?

"I volunteer as tribute!" I scream. I don't even wait for him to ask me to come up before I'm exiting my section and darting towards the stage like a bullet. A determined, strong expression is on my face. It must be, at least, because I certainly feel strong.

I run up the steps of the Justice Building and stand by Mercury's side, looking over the crowd.

"Woah! You certainly are excited! What's your name?" he asks, smiling and shoving the microphone into my face.

"Amber Symons" I announce into the microphone, my voice echoing around the entire square like thunder.

"Well, I think it's time for the boys!" He announces next.

He walks over to the boy's bowl, picks one out after a while, and does his usual make-a-dramatic-and-suspenseful-scene-by-not-unfolding-the-paper-for-a-few-seconds thing.

"Sycamore Dithlock" he proclaims, reading from the slip of paper. Any volunteers?"

My blood curdles as a screaming sound fills the air. Mercury is rudely pushed out of the way by a peacekeeper, and almost falls onto the ground before he can reclaim his balance.

I look up, shocked, to see a peacekeeper standing in front of the microphone, taking off his helmet and tapping the microphone violently.

The square begins to stir up, and people begin nervously talking. I can hear a few conversations.

"What's happening?" I hear one man ask from the audience.

"Daddy, I'm scared" I hear a little girl cry from the audience.

"SILENCE!" the peacekeeper screams in his old, deep voice. The square is instantaneously silenced, and the mutters from the crowd are replaced with terrified expressions of people not sure how to react to this situation. I myself am quite nervous, but I know I have to act confident. If I want to have any hope of winning the Hunger Games, I have to be confident and strong.

I swallow deeply and rest my hands at my sides, trying not to shake.

"Grover Huttchings, come up to these steps this instant!" he demands. I discretely turn left and observe the horrified faces of everybody in the audience. They're completely paralyzed with fear.

"This instant young man or we will find you!" he screams again. This time, even I can't help but cover my ears. My ears ache from the loud sound.

Something happens in the crowd: it stirs. The entire square makes way as a boy shuffles through the crowd as slowly as a snail crawling over the ground. His face is filled with pure terror, and I can tell that he's holding back tears.

Once he finally reaches the stage, two peacekeepers grab him from behind. They shove him in front of the microphone, where his torso is grabbed by the lead peacekeeper.

The lead peackeeper grabs the microphone and yells louder than I have ever heard anybody scream in my life. My blood turns to ice and my legs turn to jelly as I clamp my hands over my ears in an attempt to drown out the noise.

"This young man was caught stealing food from the Capitol storehouses! This is a heinous crime punishable by death. We are lenient today because this is the first time it has happened in many years! Instead of being hanged on sight, Grover will represent District 7 in the Hunger Games this year. However, if this ever is to happen again, the criminal will be shot or hanged instantly! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

The crowd is silent. Everybody is paralyzed with terror.

Before running off of the stage, the peacekeeper turns his head to Mercury and, in a surprisingly pleasant tone, announces "Mr. Backwin, please resume your position!"

Mercury walks up to the microphone. Gasping for breath, his face is red and he's sweating bullets.

"Well, shake hands" he tells us. His voice trembles as he speaks. He's a nervous wreck. People from the Capitol must not be used to this kind of thing; they're living in the lap of luxury.

I reach out to grab Grover's hand, and he reaches out to grab mine. We shake up and down. I feel intense sympathy for him. He'll get no sponsors. He'll get a pathetic training score and pathetic odds of winning. He'll die.

I don't know if I should be happy or not. On one hand, I should be sad because this boy's inevitable and inescapable death is coming up soon. On the other hand, I should be happy, because fewer tributes mean that my chances of surviving are higher.

It's a cruel, cruel world, isn't it?

 **Amber is receiving visitors in the Justice Building**

Bellatrix runs into the Justice Building giggling. She wraps her arms around me extremely tight, and I'm almost gasping for breath when she finally lets go.

"Come on, Amber, you can win this!" she encourages.

"Thanks" I reply, a laugh tumbling from my lips. Amber starts laughing a bit too. I guess that this situation is just so awkward that our brains are searching for something to do, and we're laughing.

Once we finally get it together, Bellatrix speaks again.

"Be sure to show the gamemakers your axe skills. They'll love it so much that they'll have no choice but to give you a nine or ten or even an eleven or twelve. You're so talented."

"You're right. I guess that my odds of winning are even higher because Grover, the boy that just was forced in to this thing, is guaranteed to die. I bet President Lock gave Gamemaker Calypso personal orders to make sure he's killed in the bloodbath."

"Yeah" Amber replies sadly, shaking her head. "I kind of feel bad for him. I mean, he's really underprivileged. Do you think you would steal food if your family was starving?"

I think about it for a while before I realize that we're wasting time.

"Goodbye, Bellatrix!" I hug her and squeeze her like a snake strangling a person. She squeezes me back.

When the peacekeepers carry her away, I have a few moments to think about what I'm committing too before my next visitor arrives.

I told Bellatrix goodbye.

But, if I do something wrong, this could be farewell.

 **POV: Grover Huttchings (District 7 Male)**

They don't allow anybody to come say goodbye. The instant the reaping is over, two peacekeepers grab me from behind and haul me off to the train.

I mean, I said goodbye to my loved ones before I even went off to the reaping in the first place, but there are some things that can only be done in farewell, like hugging my mother and father, or stroking my little sister's hair. We have few rights in District 7, and I have been deprived of yet another.

A black worm of dread forms in my stomach as I realize that I will never see them again as long as I live. I'm virtually guaranteed to die in the games. But, if I win, everybody I love will be killed (including them), just to make a point that the Capitol is all-powerful and can do anything.

For the first time in my life, I feel deep, passionate hatred and anger spreading through my body like water seeping into an absorbent cloth.

Maybe it's not even worth winning. Maybe it would be better to die than to serve the rest of your life as a distraction so that people forget what the real problems are.

I hang onto this feeling of hatred all the way to the Capitol.

 **Olivia Kittimonth is instructing the tributes on the train to the Capitol.**

 **POV: Olivia Kittimonth (District 7 Mentor and Victor of the 76** **th** **Hunger Games)**

I won the first ever Hunger Games after the third Quarter Quell; the one Snow rigged to kill Katniss Everdeen. The plan succeeded, and this girl named Enobaria was declared the victor after she slashed Katniss, Peeta, Finnick, and Beetee in the throat with a knife.

I'm in a jolly good mood today for a few reasons. Firstly, it's my birthday! June 23rd! Who doesn't like their birthday? Secondly, this year's pair of tributes looks like they have decent odds of surviving. Actually, I take that back _. Amber looks like she has good odds of winning._ She's tall strong, edgy, and says she's really good with an axe. Grover, on the other hand, was forced into the games after stealing food.

"So, guys, are you excited for the Games?" I ask them.

"Yeah!" Amber proclaims, baring her teeth a little.

"Sure" Grover replies in a glum tone, stirring his milkshake. I pretend to ignore the fact that he's extremely depressed.

"So, I'm here to give you advice on what to do during the Hunger Games."

The two look up at me, expecting more.

"So, you two have a perk coming from District 7. We're the District with the most victors, except for Districts one and two for obvious reasons. That's good and bad at the same time. It's good because you're usually skilled with axes from working in the lumber industry. But, it's bad because other tributes view you as a threat. You're putting a target on your back."

"Secondly, it's kind of your call as to whether you run into the cornucopia or not. In my games a few decades ago, I ran straight away from the center as fast as I could. However, run into the middle and you'll get weapons and survival tools that'll sway the odds in your favor."

"Also, get a high training score. Your entire goal during the games is survival, and to survive, you'll need sponsors. I've been a mentor for 22 years, and I can tell you that I absolutely hate it when Miss Mary Sue walks into the games expecting to win without any sponsors. You need sponsors to win, no exceptions."

"Finally, be confident. Nobody likes a weak, shy tribute. You'll be dead on the first day or in the bloodbath. You need strength to win the Hunger Games."

"Well, that's it for the survival skills, now onto different strategies…"

For the next two or so hours, I give the two kids all the ins and outs of being a tribute. They pay attention at all times, and seem very respectful. I applaud that. But, in the arena, you're fighting your life. There's no such thing as respect in an environment like that. Generous or forgiving people often get killed. Everybody's sole goal is going home. And they won't hesitate to kill you if you're the only thing standing between them and feeding their families back home.

It's a cruel, cruel world.

 **There are the District 7 tributes! This chapter was super fun to write. Anyways, District 7 is probably my favorite District, mainly due to Johanna. However, I took an online quiz and found that I'm from District 10. A different quiz said I'm from District 5. Anyways, please review the chapter and tell me what you think! The reapings are drawing to a close!**

 **Tribute Profiles:**

 **Name: Grover Huttchings**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 7**

 **Age: 16**

 **Social Class: Grover's family is among the poorest in District 7; he steals food.**

 **Tribute Token: Wooden Ball**

 **Height: 63.8 inches**

 **Weight: 112.1 pounds (he's underweight because he's poor and has little food)**

 **Hair: Short and Brown**

 **Eyes: Blue**

 **Likes: Adventure, Respectful People, Family**

 **Dislikes: Rude, Ignorant people**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Become a grandparent**

 **Strengths: Stealth, Speed**

 **Weaknesses: Can't swim**

 **Fears: Darkness**

 **Attitude towards Death: He's scared of it**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: He didn't, he was forced in after being caught stealing food**

 **Name: Amber Symons**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 7**

 **Age: 13**

 **Social Class: Amber's family is among the wealthiest in District 7.**

 **Tribute Token: Diamond Earrings**

 **Height: 70.3 inches**

 **Weight: 120.9 pounds**

 **Hair: Blond**

 **Eyes: Stormy Grey**

 **Likes: Warm Weather**

 **Dislikes: Cold Weather**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Start a family and get a high-paying job**

 **Strengths: Axe, Stealth, Speed**

 **Weaknesses: Can't climb**

 **Fears: None**

 **Attitude towards death: She isn't going down without a fight!**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: She's very skilled with an axe from working in the lumber field**

 **Reason for Volunteering: She knows she can win, because she's skilled with an axe**

 **Published 6/18/17**


	10. The District 8 Reaping

**Chapter 10: The District 8 Reaping**

 **Calico Alpert is dancing in her backyard**

 **POV: Calico Alpert (District 8 Female)**

 ** _Note: I hate Calico. I intentionally made her the worst tribute. She's a thirteen year old, conceited, happy-go-lucky teenager who stupidly volunteers because she's convinced that she can win. She's a Mary Sue on purpose._**

The wind rustles through the trees, making a sort of melodic hum that sooths my wild mind and calms me. I reach my foot outward onto the cement ground, and carry my body forward. Within minutes, I'm full on dancing, running around and jumping gracefully.

Yep, that's right, the ground is cement. District 8 is so industrialized that even people's yards are destroyed and replaced with artificial material. I just turned old enough to work in the factory. I go to the factory for two hours each day after school and work tirelessly making cloth from wool.

I love dancing. Back in the olden days, people could have any jobs they wanted. People were free to express their creativity and innovation. Nowadays, everybody in the district is chained down to a sewing machine. We're taught to be robots, stifled of all feeling, and work day in and day out making clothes.

People from the districts aren't allowed to leave. You stay where you were born your entire life and don't ever learn about anywhere else except for maybe your neighboring districts. For us, that's six and twelve.

There are lots of famous dancers in the Capitol, people who dance professionally. I've always envied them. Those in the Capitol have nothing to worry about. They don't have to worry about feeding their families. They don't have to worry about putting on masks whenever they leave home because the air is so polluted it sticks to your lungs. They don't have to worry about sanitizing the stuff that's more mud than actual water.

All of the sudden, something strange happens; my feet stop moving and I'm sucked in by a voice deep in my subconscious.

 _You could volunteer into the Hunger Games._ The voice says. _Go into that arena and win, and you'll be showered with fame and buckets of money. You could move to the Capitol and become a famous dancer. You'll be able to live the rest of your life in happily ever after._

I grin.

 **Justin Kirsten is aiding his sick brother the night before the reaping.**

 **POV: Justin Kirsten (District 8 Male)**

His hands are ice and his face is an ugly mixture of greens and reds. Pus oozes out of his skin and he's sweating like crazy. His neck is covered with rashes. His heart is pounding and he's breathing in and out rapidly.

He's near death. From working in the extremely unsanitary textile mill, he contracted some form of Cholera or Diphtheria or something. The doctor couldn't tell.

"You have to stay strong, Noah" I whisper to him. His only response is a sharp exhale and a sharp inhale.

"You can't die on me" I'm fighting back tears now. All of the sudden, a fat one tumbles from my right eye and falls to the floor. "I love you".

All of the sudden, his arm starts throbbing again. He's having one of his seizure episodes again. My blood turns to ice and my stomach turns as I dart up the stairs to the rusty old house phone. I clutch my hand around the thing and quickly dial the number for the local healer in a panic. She says she'll come soon.

 **Ten minutes later, when the healer is there**

"It's hopeless" she says, and a huge wail escapes my throat, filling up the room.

"We have two options. One, euthanize him right now. Of course, I'd need his permission first. Two, get him medicine. There's only one problem; that medicine is _expensive._ One thousand dollars for a week's worth of it. The richest man in District 8 couldn't afford one bottle."

"Sorry, Justin" the healer puts her hand on my back, but I can't see straight. Tears cloud my vision as I'm flooded with burning, passionate anger.

"What? You're a healer! You're supposed to be able to fix him! YOU LIAR!"

I'm eighteen years old, but now I'm acting like a three year old. When a boy watches his brother crumbling on the verge of death, all logic is lost.

When my parents get home from work, I tell them what the medic says, and we all cry. We give Noah all the medicine we have, but when there's no more, we have nothing to do but watch him crumble away.

That night, when I look at my calendar, I realize that tomorrow is reaping day. I grin. I think back to when the healer visited.

"That medicine is _expensive_ " she said.

The victor of the Hunger Games wins buckets of money for life, right?

 **Calico Alpert is at the reaping.**

 **POV: Calico Alpert (District 8 Female)**

District 8 is, by far, the blandest District. The air stinks of industrial fumes, and it's so polluted that it sticks to your lungs and makes it so that you can't see twenty feet in front of you. The water is so polluted that we have to run it through a strain to filter out all of the parasites and chemicals. It's so industrial that there's barely a blade of grass in sight.

However, we have the most flamboyant escort of all. Ares Magnani, an extremely slim, tall man with a very angular face, walks out onto the stage before gracefully waltzing over to the microphone like some sort of celebrity walking over a red carpet.

He grabs the microphone and smiles madly, grinning and scanning over the crowd.

"Well, what do we have here? All of District 8, ready to witness the 100th annual reaping ceremony in District 8! Are we excited?"

To my surprise, the crowd begins clapping and cheering. I myself am smiling so wildly at his flamboyant personality that I must clap along as well.

"Now, before we begin, we have to read the treaty of treason, which describes to us why the Hunger Games exist! Isn't that exciting?"

The crowd plays along, but we all think that this is by far the most boring part of the reaping. Ares reaches into his enormous pocket and pulls out a huge card with the capitol seal on the back before reading the card out loud.

"Now, as you all know, this year, there is a very special Quarter Quell! Nobody will be allowed to leave until one brave young man and woman volunteers to take the place of the two lovely ones I reap shortly."

"As usual, ladies first!" Ares saunters over to the girl's reaping bowl. This is the moment my dreams come true. This will be the start of me entering the Hunger Games, winning, and becoming a famous dancer for the rest of my life. I'm exciting out of my skin and bubbling with exhilaration.

Ares reaches his rather small hand into the reaping bowl and picks a name out. He walks back to the microphone, runs his finger along the crease, and smiles so widely I can see the back of his throat before he reads the slip of paper aloud to all of District 8.

"Hem Ambertide!" He announces excitedly. "Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer as tribute!" I scream as loud as I can.

"Well, come on up dear!" Ares replies through the mic.

Within seconds I'm out of my section and darting towards the stage as fast as a bullet. People turn their heads to look at me as I walk by. District 8 hasn't had a volunteer in many years, so it's no wonder that they're surprised.

Once I'm on the stage next to Ares, I smooth out my sea-green dress and smile for the crowd.

"Well, young lady, what's your name?" Ares hands me the microphone.

"Calico Alpert!" I announce excitedly. I'm so happy that I can finally accomplish my dreams of becoming a famous dancer. Victory is so close I can taste it.

"Are you excited, Calico?" Ares asks.

"Very!" I answer, grinning.

"Well, Calico, we can't send you into the Hunger Games alone! It's time to pick a guy to join you."

He shuffles over to the boy's reaping bowl before reaching his hand inside and picking out a name. He walks back over to microphone, unfolds the tightly folded slip of paper, and reads it aloud.

"Umber Oceanmark!" He proclaims. "Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer as tribute!" yells a boy from the eighteen year-old section. Within seconds, he's running over the ground up to the stage, and stands right next to Ares.

"Well, what's your name, young man?"

The boy grabs the microphone from Ares.

"Justin Kirsten"

"Well, Justin, are you excited?"

"Yeah" he replies blandly, hanging his head. He's most definitely not excited.

 _Why the heck did this boy volunteer?_ Is all I'm thinking right now.

"Very well! I believe we have collected our two tributes! Let's have a round of applause for Calico Alpert and Justin Kirsten, our two tributes this year!"

"Turn towards the crowd" Ares requests from Justin and I.

The crowd claps for a while, but all I can focus on is the relief on the faces of the eighteen year olds, relieved that their time being eligible for the Hunger Games is up.

After the two of us shake hands and Ares says goodbye to the crowd, a peacekeeper grabs me from behind and hauls me into the Justice Building for visitors.

 **Justin Kirsten is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Justin Kirsten (District 8 Male)**

Dad is the first person to come say goodbye. He walks over to me calmly without any shadow of an expression on his face, and sits on the couch to my left. We sit in complete silence for a few minutes, not even acknowledging each other's presence.

"I know why you volunteered" he says after a while, turning his head towards me. His deep brown eyes lock with mine, and we both start to cry. A huge, wet tear tumbles from his face and falls onto his lap, and his face is getting redder by the second. Judging by how my face is warming up, I'm about to do the same. I'm trying to hold the tears back, because this room is most certainly tapped, and what we say is being recorded and likely being broadcasted to all of Panem.

There are moments where I know that, if I say anything, I will start sobbing uncontrollably. This is one of those times. As soon as I open my mouth, I start balling my eyes out like a three year-old.

"I'm sorry" I sob. "I thought I could win and bring back medicine for Noah. The nurse said he'd die without any medication."

"I would never suggest that you do this" dad continues. "I love Noah very much, but there are many angels looking out for him. If the claws of death are to take him now, then so be it. I can't lose both of you."

Dad's always been religious.

"Listen to me. You go into that arena and win. You fight for your life. Remember what you're fighting for. When you return home, Noah will most likely be dead already. You can't save him; you can save youself."

"But, if we could get him the medicine, then maybe we could both survive" I suggest.

"Yes, that's it, my son. Optimism is the key to motivation. Maybe you can both survive, and grow up to be strong, loving adults. I would love that."

I jump in shock as the door booms open and two peacekeepers emerge. Right before they grab Dad, he utters a single sentence to me.

"You have such a brilliant mind. Use it."

Once the peacekeepers leave, I lie on the pristine purple couch and think about everything.

It was my decision to enter this competition. There are two different things that I can do. Number one, I can go into that arena and win. In that case, I can bring back the medicine and both Noah and I will survive. Number two is one I refuse to accept. If I die in that arena, my father will lose both of his children: Noah to disease and me to the deadly entertainment of the Capitol. I shouldn't have volunteered.

But I did. I did it because I love my brother. I did it because I love my family and want to keep them safe.

 **Calico Alpert is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Calico Alpert (District 8 Female)**

"Calico, I know you can win this thing. You're so clever, and you have such a strong body" says Ellie. She reaches out her arm and places it on the back of my neck.

"Do you know why I volunteered?" I ask her. I mean, she knows that I like dancing, but I don't know if she knows how much I like it.

"Hmm. No" she answers. "Why?"

"Because I want to be a dancer" I continue. "The victor of the Hunger Games doesn't have to go to school, so they can get whatever job they want or even move to the Capitol."

"Oh, I should have known that" she says, rolling her eyes.

"I mean, I know you know I like to dance, but I don't know if you know that I know you know that I like to dance." I say, and we both burst out laughing.

"Don't tell anybody about this, or I will put a voodoo curse on you!" I yell, hysterically.

"Oh, you do voodoo? But do I do that you do voodoo?" we burst out laughing once more.

The door booms open and I see two peacekeepers enter the room.

"Goodybe, Ellie!" I wave to her. "See you later!"

"Bye, Calico!" she waves back.

 **Weaver McClung is instructing the tributes on the train to the Capitol.**

 **POV: Weaver McClung (District 8 Mentor and Victor of the 98** **th** **Hunger Games)**

Calico sits to my left, and Justin sits to my right.

"So, guys, isn't this exciting?" I ask them, pretending to be excited about two kids that'll probably be dead in a month.

"Uh uh" they both reply in unison. Calico looks up and smiles, but Justin just looks down and fidgets with his shirt.

"Well, you know why I'm here, right?"

"Uh huh."

"I'm here to give you advice on how to survive those games."

"Uh huh."

"Can you give me a more interesting response than 'uh huh'?"

"Sure!" Calico says excitedly. "Give us advice."

"Well, you two are from District 8. It's sad but true that District 8 is the district with the least victors. But, that should just be extra motivation for you to win!"

"Sure! I'm definitely going to win!" Calico gushes again.

"Optimism is the key" I reply.

Calico is the type of tribute I know way to well: the happy-go-lucky and rather stupid young person who volunteers from some stupid reason and dies on the first day.

"Well, the first and most important piece of advice I can give you is to run away from the cornucopia as soon as the games begin. Almost half of tributes typically die in the bloodbath at the beginning, so run away and you've just earned yourself a ticket to the final 10. If the arena is a lake, then swim away. If it's grassland, run away. I don't care what you think is best for yourself, but I survived the Hunger Games by running away from the bloodbath and so should you."

"Also, do not make any allies! I cannot stress this enough. Being in an alliance is very dangerous. It's very common that one day, a starving or thirsty tribute will kill their ally. My advice for you is to wait it out until everyone is dead. Hide in a tree or something."

"Next, be sure to stay away from the careers. The tributes from 1, 2, and 4 are always the most deadly. Get within one hundred yards of them and its guaranteed death within the next ten minutes."

"Last, but certainly not least, get a high training score. Your training score is the main thing sponsor go by when deciding whom to sponsor. Get a high one and sponsors will line up and down the block to sponsor you. Get a low one, and you're a bloodbath kill."

"Remember that all of the other tributes want to be the last man standing as badly as you do. They'll do anything to accomplish that."

 **There's Calico and Justin, the District 8 tributes! The reapings are drawing to an end here, and there's only four more reapings after this and then we're onto the chariot rides, training, the interviews, and then the games themselves. Please review and tell me what you think!**

 **Tribute Profiles:**

 **Name: Justin Kirsten**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 8**

 **Age: 18**

 **Social Class: Justin's family is middle class in District 8**

 **Tribute Token: Metal Ring**

 **Height: 67.3 inches**

 **Weight: 130.4 pounds**

 **Hair: Short and Blond**

 **Eyes: Blue**

 **Likes: Nice People**

 **Dislikes: The nighttime, Bonfires**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Save his brother from death**

 **Strengths: Strong, Tall, Fast runner**

 **Weaknesses: Can't swim, Impatient**

 **Fears: Darkness, Death**

 **Attitude towards Death: He's scared of it, but appreciates that it is inevitable**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: He wants to win, because victors get lots of money and his brother will die without expensive medicine.**

 **Name: Calico Alpert**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 8**

 **Age: 13**

 **Social Class: Calico's family is among the wealthiest in District 8.**

 **Tribute Token: Metal Bracelet**

 **Height: 74.1 inches**

 **Weight: 123.3 pounds**

 **Hair: Long and Brown**

 **Eyes: Deep Blue**

 **Likes: Dancing**

 **Dislikes: Thunderstorms**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Become a famous dancer**

 **Strengths: Sly, Stealth, Fast Runner**

 **Weaknesses: Can't run, Can't swim**

 **Fears: Failure**

 **Attitude towards death: She's religious and believes she will go to a better place when she dies.**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: She wants to win, move to the Capitol, and become a famous dancer.**

 **Published 6/25/17**


	11. The District 9 Reaping

**Chapter 11-The District 9 Reaping**

 **Kennedy Seibold is going over to her friend Laina's house the morning of the reaping.**

 **POV: Kennedy Seibold (District 9 Female)**

I reach out my right hand and rap my hand three times on Laina's front door. Within seconds, the door flies open and Laina stands there, her long black hair tumbling down her back and her deep blue eyes focused on mine.

"Hi, Kennedy!" She remarks excitedly, a smile spreading across her face. "How are you?"

"I'm fine" I reply, trying to be enthusiastic. I will admit that she's a little too energetic sometimes. She's like a jack in the box. It's fun to look at and play with, but turn the crank too much and it explodes out, shocking you and knocking you back.

"Well, come in!" she offers. I step up and enter her house. Laina's house is one of the coolest that I've ever seen. The foyer is beautiful, and the living room to the right looks amazing with the green plaid couch and the television. I could never afford any of this. Laina's parents make hundreds of times more money than both of my parents combined.

"Hey, mama!" Laina hollers. "I'm having Kennedy over. She's in the foyer!"

"Alright!" Her mom yells back. "Have fun!"

"Come on!" says Laina. I follow her as we both scamper up to her room.

"You know, my grandmother was a victor" Laina announces through the darkness. I squirm around and bump into the brittle walls of Laina's closet. Some people would say that it's childish for two 17-year-olds to hide in their closet with flashlights. I just think that it's innocent, wholehearted fun.

"She won the fourth annual Hunger Games. Her name was Athena, and she was fearless. She always told me the stories of how she won" Laina puts on a wild grin. She's a horrible liar.

Laina, the granddaughter of a victor? She's totally lying. I scan over her body. I guess it is a little funny.

"You're lying" I state matter-of-factly, and we both start giggling.

"You should have seen the look on your face!" Laina says through laughter. "Of course I'm lying!"

We both enjoy a few moments of thumping around Laina's closet, seized with uncontrollable laughter.

Once we finally pull it together, I make a decision to tell her a secret. She's my best friend, after all, and I would trust her with my life.

"Hey, Laina, I have a secret for you!"

"Ooh, really? I love secrets!" She replies, a grin spreading across her face.

I lean up to her and put my hands around her ear. She grins as I tell her a secret I've held in my heart for months.

"I'm volunteering tomorrow" I tell her, and she reels away before staring at me in shock.

"Really? Why?" She's absolutely flabbergasted, like I expected. It's not every day that you hear that your best friend is risking their life.

"Because of the monetary prize you get if you win. You know my family's poor. It's never something I like to talk about, but we never have enough food and I probably won't live past age thirty with this horrible diet. Winning the Hunger Games comes with not only fame and fortune for life, but also saving those you love from the ever present hand of death."

"Oh…" Laina says. "I'm sorry about you economic situation. If I could, I'd make you the richest person in Panem. You're so kind, and gentle, and you're such a genuine and respectful person. But I can't stop you from making your own choices. Do what's right for those you love."

All of the sudden, I hear her let out a sob.

"Oh, it's fine" I say encouragingly, leaning towards her and wrapping my arms around her torso.

I decide to shine light on this sad situation.

"But, you have to pinky promise not to tell anybody!" I laugh. I reach out my hand, and both of us lock pinkie fingers.

"Yes!" she replies, giggling. "Pinky promise."

 **Jackson Harte is trying to pay off a bill with his parents.**

 **POV: Jackson Harte (District 9 Male)**

"Hey, Susan, can you get a calculator?" Dad asks Mom. He looks down at the bill and frowns. This one is worth at least a week's money.

"Sure" Mom replies, shuffling into the other room to grab a calculator. Ever since dad lost his job last week and mom last year, we've plummeted in terms of financial status. Now, we're struggling every day just to put food on the table. I try to pretend that I can put up with it. I try to pretend that I don't go to bed hungry most nights and cry for hours on my old, tattered mattress. I try to pretend that we're not hungry and poor.

"Hey, Jackson" says Mom. I look up. "Can you go to your room for a second?"

"Sure" I reply, getting up off of the couch and walking up the stairs to my room.

Mom and Dad always ask me to leave whenever they're arguing about something financial. I guess they want to spare me the stress of seeing my parents fighting.

Once I reach the front door of my room, I rest my hand on the handle and hesitate to turn it. I imagine some magical world where I have a real room; a bed and a television and a bookshelf filled with books. But no. I turn the handle, and there's only the tattered mattress laying on the floor and three books in the corner.

I saunter over to the mattress that I've grown far too big for and lie down on it. All I can focus on is the rather disgusting looking ceiling that's chipping paint like mad, and the corners that are as likely as not filled with spiders.

 _How are we going to survive like this?_ Is all that I can think. _Some people live paycheck to paycheck. We don't even get paychecks, because we're all unemployed!_

This year, my name is in the reaping bowl 85 times. For five years, I've been taking tesserae for myself, both of my parents, my little sister, my five cousins and four aunts as well as three uncles.

There's only one solution to escape. It's one that I've been thinking about for a while now, but I've never really gotten to deeply explore it. Here, in the complete silence of my room with the door closed, I can really think about it.

I could volunteer at the reaping tomorrow morning. The winner of the Hunger Games wins fame and fortune for life. I could feed my family. Even if I die, I don't see how that isn't a benefit. I'm just an extra mouth to feed for them; too young to work.

I typically see myself as an honest person. But my desperation to escape the clutches of poverty is too strong for that now.

 ** _Note: Zeus is an unusual escort; he actually hates the Hunger Games and does not like being an escort. But, since it is ridiculously high-paying, he has the job anyways. I'm sure some people would say "an escort wouldn't do that" and they're right. Zeus is a very peculiar instance._**

 **Zeus Tolls is conducting the reaping ceremony in District 9.**

 **POV: Zeus Tolls (District 9 Escort)**

District 9 is so bland. It's just miles and miles of endless amber waves of grain, promises of hope where there is none. If an escort's tribute wins the Hunger Games, they're bumped up to a better district the next year. However, District 9 hasn't had a winner in 25 years or something, so I haven't got a hope of that happening.

"Welcome to the 100th annual Reaping Ceremony in District 9! How exciting is that?" I yell into the microphone. We escorts are forced to pretend that we're excited about the Hunger Games, when really my gut is wrenched with guilt at each year's reapings, staring at the petrified faces of two kids who will probably be dead next month.

"Now, before we begin, I must read aloud the treaty of treason, which describes why the Hunger Games exist." Over the course of the next ten minutes or so, I read the treaty of treason and the Quarter Quell twist. Then, the mayor of District 9 comes up and reads the names of all past victors from District 9. There have been exactly three. Only one is still alive.

"Well, let's get down to business! It's time to pick our female tribute!"

I saunter over to the girl's reaping bowl and fish my hand around it for a while before reaching deep into the mass of slips and pulling one out. Silence envelops the square as I approach the microphone and carefully unfold the tightly packed slip of paper.

"Alana Morodech!" I read, scanning over the crowd.

"I volunteer as tribute!" cries a voice from somewhere in the crowd. I can't tell where the sound is coming from, but I soon see a girl of maybe sixteen or so darting up to the stage. She stands by my side. I turn my head and observe her to find a look on her face that I've never seen before. It's one of nervousness and anxiety, but also of thrill and excitement. This is a very curious girl.

"Well, young lady, what's your name?" I ask her, shoving the microphone in her face and putting on a stupid smile.

"Kennedy Seibold" she announces firmly.

"Well, Kennedy, I think it's time to pick our male tribute, then!" I stride over to the boy reaping bowl and pick out a single name before unfolding it.

"Julius Eisenbud! Any volunteers for this young man?"

The sound "I volunteer as tribute" from the 16 year old section precedes a boy running across the dirt ground, up the Justice Building steps, and to my side next to Kennedy.

"What's your name, young man?"

"Jackson Harte"

"Are you excited?"

"Very."

"Let's have a round of applause for our two volunteers, Kennedy Seibold and Jackson Harte!"

The crowd claps politely, but I can tell from the looks on their faces and from the relieved looks on the eighteen year olds that they don't mean it. They're required to, though. People who are stupid enough not to clap for the two tributes get their tongues cut out, or worse.

"Well, come on, you two, shake hands!"

The two shake hands up and down a few times, before they turn back to the crowd. All I can focus on is the eighteen year olds, relieved that their time in the reaping bowl is up.

"Very well! This concludes our ceremony! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

 **Kennedy Seibold is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Kennedy Seibold (District 9 Female)**

Laina throws her arms around my torso and pulls my body close to hers. I can smell her breath. It smells like freshly baked bread.

"Oh, I'm really going to miss you these next few months" she says. "You have to come back, okay?"

"I promise." I reply, crying a little bit myself.

"But what if you don't come back? There are lots of careers!"

"Oh, Laina, there's tons of hiding places in most arenas, and I can stay away from the careers. It's fine. I'll come home. I promise."

"Promise me that you'll dart straight away from the cornucopia the instant that gong rings. It's not worth entering the bloodbath with tons of careers."

"Alright."

"Also, promise that you'll stay hidden, and survive in the wild for as long as you can. Stay as far away from the careers as you can."

"Okay."

"Promise me that you'll win. Promise me that you'll come back home!" she says, finally.

"I will. Pinky promise?"

Her face lights up as she holds out her pinky finger.

"Yes. Pinky Promise."

 **Jackson Harte is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Jackson Harte (District 9 Male)**

"Make sure to take care of things while I'm gone" I wrap my arms around mom's torso and hug her.

"We'll do that, Jackson. That's our concern, not yours. The only thing that you should be concerned about is winning this thing. I know you can. To win the games, you don't need to physically be strong. You don't need to be extremely skilled with a weapon. You just need to be intelligent. You have such a clever mind. Use it."

"Thanks. I'll try to" is all that I can say right now. There are so many emotions clashing inside of me right now that I feel like collapsing on the ground and staring at the ground blankly until the peacekeepers carry away.

Maybe I can win. Maybe I can go into that arena, gather some weapons, get some sponsors, and win. Maybe I can get my family out of this financial struggle to put food on the table and earn us a house in a victor's village.

I'm definitely coming out of that arena. If I'm not careful, though, it could be in a long, wooden box.

 **Ostro Keene is instructing the tributes on the train to the Capitol.**

 **POV: Ostro Keene (District 9 Mentor and Victor of the 77** **th** **Hunger Games)**

"Oh, stop it!" I say to Jackson. "You know you shouldn't be eating that much".

"Sorry" is what he tries to say, but it comes out as "sawa" because his mouth is stuffed full with mashed potatoes. "I'm just making up for the last 16 years of my life. Where's the garbage can?"

"It's over there" I direct, pointing to a small, black garbage can in the corner. He clumsily gets up and walks away to spit out his behemoth of mashed potatoes.

"So, what are your thoughts?" I ask Kennedy. The first thing I do every year is ask the new tributes about how they feel. It helps me learn about their personality and how I should teach them.

"Huh… That's a toughie. I'm kind of scared, because my odds of dying are 23 in 24, but I'm kind of thrilled to see what the Capitol is like. How did you feel when you were reaped?"

"Oh, I wasn't reaped, I volunteered for my broth… never mind."

All of the sudden, my entire world collapses and my mind siphons back to my reaping a few decades ago. Yes, I remember it clearly. I remember the escort reaching into the bowl and picking out my brother's name. He was so helpless, so weak, and so vulnerable; I couldn't just let him die!

"Wait, wha.." she asks, wanting to hear more.

"Never mind that!" I reply harshly. At this, Jackson turns around and faces me, only halfway through emptying the massive contents of his mouth into the garbage can. A little bit falls out of his mouth.

"Where are the napkins?" He asks, staring down at the splotch of potato on the ground.

"Don't worry about that. The avoxes will take care of that."

"So, the first and foremost thing I need to tell you is this. Listen very carefully, and never forget what I am about to tell you. As soon as that gong rings, you get yourself as far away from the cornucopia as you can. Run faster than you ever have in your life. Run like your life depends on it, which it kind of does."

"Also, get a high training score. Your training score is the main thing that sponsors look at to decide whether or not to sponsor you. Even if you're attractive and funny, a sponsor will look right past you if you get a low training score."

"Additionally, when you're in that arena, hide. Hide and hide and hide. Whenever there are any other tributes around, hide. Whenever there aren't any other tributes around, hide. Hide for the entire games until there are only a few tributes left, and then pick them off from afar. Learn some projectiles during training."

"Finally, spend most of your time during training at two stations: knife usage, and survival skills. Looking at the strategies of past victors will quickly lead you to discover that over half of them won their games by using knives to pick off tributes. One third of tributes won their games by hiding until everyone else was dead. Be skilled in survival, and in knife usage, and your odds of being the last man standing skyrocket."

"Oh! Also, your odds of winning are basically the same regardless of race or gender. Looking at statistics about past victors shows that victors are basically evenly divided among the genders, and there are many ethnic and colored victors as well."

"Just remember that you are capable of being the victor. Don't ever give up hope" is what I say out loud.

The thing is that these two kids probably won't be the victor. And that's what scares me the most.

 **Alright, there are the District 9 tributes! I've always found District 9 to be the most difficult District to write about, because there's virtually no mention of what it's like or how the people live in the books or in the films. Anyways, next up is Districts 10, 11, and 12, the poorest of the bunch. Their reapings will be interesting, to say the least. Please review and tell me what you think!**

 **Tribute Profiles:**

 **Name: Jackson Harte**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 9**

 **Age: 16**

 **Social Class: Jackson's family is among the poorest in District 9.**

 **Tribute Token: None**

 **Height: 67.3 inches**

 **Weight: 128.1 pounds (he's underweight from not having enough food to eat)**

 **Hair: Short and brown, parted in the middle**

 **Eyes: Stormy Grey**

 **Likes: Chocolate, Cats**

 **Dislikes: Liars**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Help his family to escape poverty**

 **Strengths: Smart, Stealth, Running**

 **Weaknesses: Clumsy, Weak in Weaponry**

 **Fears: Snakes**

 **Attitude towards Death: He doesn't like it, but he appreciates that it has to come someday.**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: The monetary prize given to the victor could help his family to escape poverty.**

 **Name: Kennedy Seibold**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 9**

 **Age: 17**

 **Social Class: Kennedy's family is among the poorest in District 9.**

 **Tribute Token: Small, gold friendship bracelet from Laina**

 **Height: 68.2 inches**

 **Weight: 128.8 pounds**

 **Hair: Black, back in a ponytail**

 **Eyes: Blue**

 **Likes: Relaxing, Hanging out with her Friend**

 **Dislikes: Working in the grain field**

 **Goals/Ambitions: None, really. She doesn't know where to head with her life yet.**

 **Strengths: Fast Runner, Fast Swimmer, Good Hider**

 **Weaknesses: Impatient, Unintelligent**

 **Fears: She has an irrational fear of big spiders**

 **Attitude Towards Death: She's religious and thinks she'll be off to somewhere else when she dies.**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: The monetary prize given to the victor could help her family to escape poverty.**

 **Published 7/2/17**


	12. The District 10 Reaping

**Chapter 12-The District 10 Reaping**

 **The mayor of District 10 is speaking to all of the citizens of his district a week before the reaping.**

 **POV: Anthony Fairwing (Mayor of District 10)**

This is it. The moment I've been dreading for months now. The thought of this moment has kept me awake for hours every night for the past month. Sometimes, I even wake up screaming from horrible nightmares of death.

"Mr. Fairwing, everything's set!" my assistant says, adjusting his camera.

I sigh and hold my face in my hands in horror. This is the most traumatizing thing I have ever done in my life. But, a leader must do what is best for his people. This is certainly best for my people. I'm sure of it.

Last week, I set up a conference with the mayor of District 11. The two of us agreed to do this in our districts the week before the reaping.

I clear my throat before pushing open the doors of the Justice Building and walking out onto the stage, with an uncomfortable posture.

"Welcome" I say into the microphone, my voice echoing across the square like thunder. I scan over the crowd nervously, and District 10's population of about twenty-thousand stares back. "We are gathered here today to select one young man and woman to fight in the Hunger Games this year. I know that you are surprised, but I assure you _that this is_ _ **not**_ _the reaping_. So, I have put together a short speech to explain why you are all here looking at me right now."

Trembling madly, I reach into the pocket of my black coat and pull out an index card with the seal of District 10 on it. I read the card out loud.

 _"This year's quarter quell twist was an interesting one: the two tributes from each District must be volunteers. However, in the history of the Hunger Games, District 10 has had very few volunteers. So, I have put together a makeshift 'reaping' of sorts, where I will pick one young man and woman, who will be required to volunteer at the reaping next week."_

I put the card back in my pocket and realize that I'm fighting back tears now. Me, randomly selected two innocent children and forcing them to volunteer into the game of death? Maybe I'm just as bad as the Capitol. But, I don't want my people to have blood on their hands. I don't want them to know that their safety this year came at the price of someone else's life. This was the best thing to do. I'm sure of it.

If we did what the Capitol suggested and just waited around for someone to volunteer, it would take days! People would starve to death or die of dehydration until somebody gave into the pressure and finally volunteered! I can't let that happen.

"As usual, ladies first" I saunter over to the girl's reaping bowl. I'm crying now. I don't even try to hide it. This is sick and twisted in every way possible. I feel like a monster as I reach into the girl's reaping bowl and pluck out a name before walking back to the microphone and unfolding it gingerly. A collective inhale comes from the crowd, and you can hear a pin drop.

"The female that will be required to volunteer next week is… Amanda Boix."

The crowd is completely silent for over a minute. "Amanda Boix" I repeat.

My entire soul is crushed in one instant when a girl of certainly only twelve starts up to the stage, balling her eyes out and sobbing uncontrollably. Twelve. The youngest victor of the Hunger Games ever was fourteen.

Once she's finally up to the stage, I give her a quick hug. Less of an "I love you" hug, but more of a comforting one. She turns towards the crowd and a horrified look spreads over her young, beautiful face.

I feel like screaming and running back into the Justice Building. I just doomed someone to die.

"And now for the boys" I walk over to the boy's bowl and pick out a name before walking back over to the microphone and reading it out loud.

"Colton Spears" I read.

"Right here!" a boy from the crowd raises his hand before running up to the Justice Building steps. He's shaking wildly and breathing rapidly. I can practically hear his pulse.

"Very well" I muster up through a sob. "You two kids may return to your families for now."

The two kids promptly run back to their families.

Maybe I'm just as much of a monster as the Capitolites themselves. I just doomed two innocent children to die. And that's what scares me more than anything.

 ** _Note: So, in case you don't get what just happened, here's a simplified explanation of mayors of Districts 10 and 11, knowing that their districts have had very few volunteers (and that people would starve in the square waiting for someone to volunteer) , set up a special system. The week before the reaping, the mayor randomly selects a girl and a boy. Those two kids are forced to volunteer at the reaping the next week._**

* * *

 **Amanda Boix is leaving for the reaping.**

 **POV: Amanda Boix (District 10 Female)**

 ** _Note: Amanda's last name is pronounces 'Bwa'_**

"Here's the dress I bought you for the reaping!" mom smiles as she reaches into the ornate turquoise box and pulls out a long, blue dress. "Do you like it?"

I grin wildly. "Are you kidding? I love it!"

Then, something hits be and I'm pulled back to my senses. Today is the reaping. Today is the day that I'll be forced to 'volunteer' into the games. Today is the beginning of the end of my life.

"Are you all right, Maya?" mom asks, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Mama."

I'm not fine. But, Mama might as well be able to read minds, that's just how good she is at telling how I' feeling.

"Is it the reaping again? Come on, Maya, I know you can win. Just act confident. Make everybody like you, and you're sure to win."

"I don't want to die!" I yell, balling my eyes out. I fall to the floor, gasping for breath, and bury my face in my hands.

"Nobody said that you're going to die, honey. You can win. I know you can. Oh, look! We're late!"

I look up at the clock. 6:50 a.m. The reaping begins in ten minutes, and it's dangerously close to the time when the peacekeepers walk around and make sure that nobody's hiding in their homes and skipping the reaping.

It's all that Mom and Dad can do to run into the closet to hastily put on something that isn't work wear as I heave the enormous dress over my body. All three of us then leap for the door, swing it open, and dart towards the Justice Building in the sweltering heat.

* * *

"Next!" the peacekeeper demands. The girl in front of me hastily runs off to the square.

"Finger?"

"Oh, of course." I put out my right index finger. There's a sharp pinch as he injects the needle into my tender flesh and smears the blood onto a card labeled "Boix, Amanda"

Blood is a beautiful color. I mean, it's red, but it's also so much more than that. It's such a beautiful mixture of reds and blacks and blues, that all blend together in a careful and calculating mixture that twists itself into beautiful shades when it dries.

"Next!" the peacekeeper demands. I hurriedly dart off to the area for twelve year-old females at the reaping. I try to act natural as everybody stares at me. They all recognize my face from the choosing last week. They all know that I'm required to volunteer. They all know that I'm required to be a tribute.

And, in District 10, the word 'tribute' is pretty much synonymous with 'corpse'.

* * *

 **Colton Spears is at his house the night before the reaping.**

 **POV: Colton Spears (District 10 Male)**

"You can come eat now!" Mom yells. She sets the pan down and pours the soup into a small, plastic container before walking over and setting it on the table. I instantly set down the book I'm reading and start over to the kitchen. The air carries scent of chicken stew that makes my mouth flood with saliva.

"Thanks, Mom" I say to her from across the room. She turns away from the sink, where she's cleaning off the pan with a dish rag.

"You're welcome" she replies plainly.

The instant I sit down at the table, I clutch the spoon in my right hand and devour the bowl of soup, consuming the entire thing in less than five minutes.

"You know you shouldn't be eating that fast!" Mom rolls her eyes. "Savor it!"

She's talking, of course, about the fact that I'm eating soup. Soup this rich in flavor is ridiculously expensive for us, and we couldn't afford if we saved our nickels for a decade. But, during the choosing last week, the mayor required to volunteer tomorrow. Pitifully, a woman gave my mother an entire chicken, telling her to give it to me as a gift. My mother killed the hen with boiling water before slicing it up and making it into a delicious chicken soup.

Oh, no. The reaping. Every time I think about it, I lose my mind.

I close my eyes as hard as I can and think about happy things. It's a technique I learned a few years ago whenever something really bad was happening. I try to contain it, but I just can't. A moan tumbles from my lips.

Mom turns, alarmed. "Is it the reaping again?"

"Yes."

"Just don't think about it. Think about happy things. Close your eyes very tightly, and think about how great it is to be alive."

The part she doesn't say is ' _treasure what little time remains in your life, because it's almost over.'_

We all know that it's true. We all know that I won't be alive next month. But, I have to at least try to win. I mean, I have something great called common sense, and I won't push my luck in the arena. I mean, simple enough.

Then, there's the reaping. I can't cry during the reaping. I have to act strong. Strong is what gets you sponsors, and you need sponsors to win the games.

I turn my head to the right and peer out of the cloudy, glass window towards the seemingly endless field where cows dot the landscape and a blazing sun sits near the horizon.

Maybe the Hunger Games are a good thing. If I win, that's a good thing; we can move to the Capitol and escape the poverty of District 10. On the other hand, if I die, I don't see how that could be a bad thing; an eternity of peace, free from the threat and force of the Capitol.

After all, since I'm too young to work, I'm really just an extra mouth to feed.

* * *

Our escort, Demeter Rollins, is a lady that loves to listen to herself talk. She babbles on about how great it is to be our escort and how exciting the Hunger Games will be this year, as if she doesn't tell us the exact same thing every year. We play along, listening to her babbling about her pet hamster and her friend's pet cat for over twenty minutes. I zone out after she starts listing the names of all the frog species she's seen in her local pond.

I'm startled back to reality by the clicking sound of Demeter's high-heeled shoes as she saunters over to the girl's reaping bowl. She reaches her hand into the bowl and fishes for a name before finally plunging her hand into the mass of papers and picking one out. She shuffles back over to the microphone and clumsily unfolds the tiny slip of paper. She brushes her chestnut-brown hair to the side, smiles, and reads the name out loud.

"Betty Gardner!" She gushes into the microphone. I cringe at her magnified voice. It's laced with disgusting, sticky sweetness that makes me want to vomit. "Any volunteers?"

The entire square is enveloped with silence. Every head in District 10 turns towards one helpless looking twelve year old in the middle of the crowd. We all know who it is, of course. It's Amanda, the girl that the mayor selected and forced to volunteer today.

There's an awkward silence for over ten seconds, before the girl finally speaks up.

"I volunteer as tribute" she says, nervously.

"Well, dear, come on up to the stage so we can get your name!" Demeter is shaking with exhilaration. The second ever volunteer from District 10 is walking to the stage, now. (That's right; our second ever volunteer.)

Amanda doesn't have to push anybody out of her way. Everybody clears a path for her towards the stage. She walks nervously down the path in complete silence, and starts up the Justice Building steps before standing by Demeter's side.

"What's your name, dear?" Demeter asks, putting on an imbecilic smile and shoving the microphone in front of Amanda's face.

"Amanda Boix" she murmurs. Her voice is barely audible.

"Well, Amanda, how do you feel, being District 10's first volunteer in eighty-six years?"

"Great."

"That's the spirit of the games! I think it's time to pick a lucky guy to join you, eh?"

Unless the spirit of the games is talking as plainly as possible and fighting back tears, I don't think a human being could be any more stupid than Demeter is. In her defense, though, she's extremely dumbfounded that District 10 has had our first volunteer in almost nine decades.

At this point, boys from all across the square are giving me nervous glances. Why are they staring at me so expectantly?

All of the sudden, the memory crashes down upon me like a pile of bricks and a black worm of dread forms in my stomach. I have to volunteer. I swallow.

Demeter's shoes click over the hot brick ground as she shuffles over to the boy's reaping bowl and picks out a name. She clumsily unfolds it and walks back over to the microphone. Demeter scans over the crowd, looks at the name, and reads it out loud.

"Alastair Harold!" she announces. "Any volunteers?"

Every single face in the entire square turns towards me, and there's a few seconds of awkward tension before I raise my hand and yell "I volunteer as tribute!" before darting up to the stage.

"Can you give us a name?" Demeter shoves the microphone in my face.

"Yeah, umm.. Colton Spears" I announce firmly.

"Let's put our hands together for Amanda Boix and Colton Spears, our two tributes!" the crowd claps quietly. They don't mean it, though. They're just clapping because they're required to.

"Well, you two, shake hands!"

I reach out my hand and grab Amanda's. We both shake up and down. Being a twelve year-old, her hands are so small that I actually have to just wrap my hand around her fist. We turn back towards the crowd.

"This concludes the reaping!" Demeter proclaims. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

* * *

 **Amanda Boix is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Amanda Boix (District 10 Female)**

The door of the Justice Building flies open, lets in a tiny bit of warm air from outside, then slams shut. Standing in the doorway is my mother.

"Mama!" I thrust myself off of the couch and lunge myself towards her body. I slam into her body with full momentum and wrap my arms around her as hard as I can.

"Maya, I love you so much. These next few weeks will be very difficult without you."

I notice that she doesn't say " _The rest of my life will be difficult without you_ ," even though I know that in my heart.

"You have to win" Mom whispers, squeezing me even tighter than before. "I love you so much."

"Just don't let Susan (Susan's my younger sister) take any tesserae, unless you really need some."

"We won't."

"Because, If I die in the games…" I venture.

"Stop!" she interrupts me. "Don't think that way. You can't afford to. Survival is your number one option now. Be sure to get lots of supplies, and get lots of sponsors. Do that, and you're sure to win."

"Oh, I love you so much, Mama" I shove my face into her torso and begin crying. At first, it's just mild irritation in the back of my eye and my throat. Slowly, it forms into a big wet tear that bursts out of my eye.

"I don't want to die, Mama!"

"Nobody said that you were going to die, honey. You can win! Let's go over to the couch together and relax."

As we're lying on the couch together, I hug her closer than I ever have before; savoring the last time I'll ever see her in my life.

* * *

 **Colton Spears is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Colton Spears (District 10 Male)**

I jump as the door flies open and, what do you know, it's Theo, my best friend from school.

"I knew you would be the first person to come!" I exclaim.

"Yeah, I'm really going to miss you, now" he fidgets with his shirt nervously.

"Hey, a little optimism can't hurt. I'm now dead yet!" we both giggle slightly at this joke before he sits down next to me.

"So what'll you show the gamemakers in your private session?" he asks. There's an awkward tension as I strain my brain for something I'm talented at.

"I guess I'm good with a knife" I say. "Working with the butcher has really formed me into a knife skiller."

We sit in silence for a few moments before Theo finally succumbs to the elephant in the room. "So, do you think you can win?" he asks.

"Huh… Maybe. Maybe not. I mean, I'm good with a knife and I'm a fast runner, but there will probably be boys twice my size from the career districts, and girls who know ninety different ways to kill you with a rope. I don't really know where I stand. Not until I see the other tributes, at least."

Dalton clears his throat and speaks. "I have a surprise for you." He reaches into his worn down pocket and pulls out a small stone. All I can think is _what is this?_

All of the sudden, I'm back in kindergarten, playing outside on the old, well-worn playground. Most of the children were playing on the sidewalk or on the swings and the slides, but me and Theo were in the very corner of the fenced off area around the school. Behind that fence was a big pile of rocks. I'm sure that if the teachers would have seen us, we would have gotten in trouble, but the teachers weren't watching. So, we both jumped over the fence and collected them. "Isn't it funny how these can be so many different colors and different shapes and sizes, yet we still call them by the exact same name- rocks?" he said.

When playground time was over, Theo and I ran inside to grab two mason jars. We divided the rocks into two equal parts, and put half of the rocks in each jar. We each took our jars home with us. My jar has sat in my closet for nine years. Theo's has spent nine years on top of his nightstand. Either way, it's a sign of friendship between us.

I grab the stone from Theo. Roughly one inch in diameter; it looks flat enough to skip on top of a lake. Ridges cover its surface, and rust is building up in the corners. I can tell that it used to be grey, but it's turning a rusty red. It's rather beautiful.

"Thank you" is all I say, because what else is there to say, really? This is my only lifeline to the outside world while I'm in the arena.

"Do you think it'll be confiscated?" I ask him. I mean, some of the corners are quite sharp, and it could be construed as a weapon.

He shakes his head. "No, it's fine. They would only confiscate your token if it was, like, a dagger or something."

I imagine a new tribute waltzing into the Capitol with a knife in his pocket, and I giggle.

The door booms open and a peacekeeper announces that Theo's time with me is up.

"Bye, Theo! See you next month, maybe!" I yell jokingly.

"Bye, Colton. Good luck" he replies.

Once the peacekeepers leave, I lie on the pristine white sofa and savor the brief moment of silence.

* * *

 **Lauren Rudolphine is instructing the tributes on the train to the Capitol.**

 **POV: Lauren Rudolphine (District 10 Mentor and Victor of the 81** **st** **Hunger Games)**

"So, the very first thing that you need to know during the games is to spend most of your time surviving in the wild. What you definitely should not do is go around looking for other tributes to kill. People who do that end up being killed right away."

Both Amanda and Colton look nervous. I can see why. These two kids did not volunteer at their own free will. Instead, they were chosen by lottery and forced to volunteer.

"Also, get sponsors. I know it's kind of a given, but if you're starving and cold in the arena at night, some crackers, some matches, or even a jacket could mean the difference between your life and your death. Remember that you're never safe. Since it's a quarter quell, there's guaranteed to be surprises in every corner."

"Here's something to do during training. Try to go around and look at all of the other tributes. Evaluate your competition. Are there lots of kids who know how to use a spear? Then you should learn to use one so that you can defend yourself in case one of them attacks you. Are there lots of kids who know how to start a fire? Learn how to do that."

"I have a question," Amanda asks.

"Sure, dear."

"What's the best thing to do at the cornucopia?" she asks.

"Great question" I reply. "The best thing to do is, as soon as the gong goes off, to grab the closest thing to you and then dart away into the arena. It's too common for tributes from outlying districts to run into the very middle of the cornucopia. They almost always die. It's also way too common for tributes to run away instantly. No, no, no! Just grab the closest thing to you, and then get yourself out of there."

Amanda nods her head slowly.

"Training scores and betting odds. Training scores are a sponsor's primary method of determining which tributes are 'the best'. So, get a high one and sponsors will be tripping over each other to sponsor you. Get a low one, and you'll probably die."

"Of course, there are always exceptions. Ten years ago, a boy won by running towards the middle of the cornucopia and hiding until the careers were gone, then emerging and collecting the items. About thirty years ago, a boy who received a 3 in training won. Eighty years ago, a girl won by burying herself under a pile of leaves and mud, and then lying there with a flask of water for a week. This advice just goes for the average tribute. If, at any point, you think something might be a good idea that we didn't talk about, maybe we can discuss it and I'll make an exception."

"What are our odds of winning?" Colton asks.

"Well, naturally, your odds of winning would be about one in twenty-four. However, I'm sorry to say that District 10 has had four victors in the history of the Hunger Games, and I'm the only one still alive. That means that your odds of winning are about one in twenty five, or about four percent."

"So, we probably won't win, is what you're saying?" Amanda says, leaning on one arm.

Her sincerity leaves me slightly discomforted.

* * *

 **There's Amanda and Colton, the District 10 tributes. I literally just realized that I named two tributes Colton (Colton Chancler from District 2 and Colton Spears from District 10). Anyways, the reapings are drawing to a close! So, what do you think of the mayor's system of randomly selecting two kids and forcing them to volunteer? Note that this 'force people to volunteer' thing will occur for District 11's reapings as well. Please review and tell me what you think!**

* * *

 **Tribute Profiles:**

* * *

 **Name: Colton Spears**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 10**

 **Age: 14**

 **Social Class: Colton's family is middle class in District 10.**

 **Tribute Token: Small Rock**

 **Height: 64.3 inches**

 **Weight: 108.6 pounds**

 **Hair: Dirty Blond**

 **Eyes: Blue**

 **Likes: Music, Nice People**

 **Dislikes: Rude People, Playing Outside**

 **Goals/Ambitions: He's fourteen and doesn't really know where to go with his life.**

 **Strengths: Fast Runner, Stealth, Good with a Knife**

 **Weaknesses: Can't Swim, Can't Climb**

 **Fears: Darkness**

 **Attitude towards Death: He fears death somewhat.**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: He was randomly selected by lottery and forced to volunteer.**

* * *

 **Name: Amanda Boix**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 10**

 **Age: 12**

 **Social Class: Amanda's family is somewhat wealthy in District 10.**

 **Tribute Token: Leather Bracelet given to her by her mother**

 **Height: 61.9 inches**

 **Weight: 100.0 pounds**

 **Hair: Chesnut Brown, back in a ponytail**

 **Eyes: Amber**

 **Likes: Sleep**

 **Dislikes: Spiders and Snakes**

 **Goals/Ambitions: None, yet.**

 **Strengths: Stealth, Slingshot**

 **Weaknesses: Can't swim, Can't Climb, Young, Slow Runner**

 **Fears: Failure**

 **Attitude towards Death: It's got to come some day!**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: She was randomly selected by lottery and forced to volunteer.**

* * *

 **Published 7/9/17**


	13. The District 11 Reaping

**Chapter 13-The District 11 Reaping**

 **The mayor of District 11 is speaking to the citizens of his district the week before the reaping.**

 **POV: Andeles Tallow (Mayor of District 11)**

 ** _Note: Please read the District 10 Reaping chapter or this chapter won't make sense._**

There's only one way in or out of the Justice Building: through the front door. There used to be a door in the guest room (the room that friends and family can come to say goodbye to the tributes), but it was sealed shut after a tribute tried running away a few years ago.

I look down at my right hand. Clutching the doorknob, my knuckles are a ghostly white. Behind these doors lies the entire population of District 11. I've been thinking about this moment for weeks. I just can't get it off my mind. One day, I'll rest on the solid conclusion that this is the best thing for the people of District 11. Another day, I'll spend hours stewing about how much I dread this moment. I turn my hand clockwise and push open the door. I cringe as the hinge complains with a squeaking noise. I start up to the microphone and pull an index card out of my pocket. I check to make sure that the microphone is on.

"Welcome" I say, scanning over the crowd. The people of District 11 stare back at me. District 11 being the second most populous district (with just shy of 300,000 people), the square is bursting at the seams with people. People are packed three people per square meter, from as far as I can see in the distance. The faces of the people in front are practically touching the stage.

"I know that you are all very confused as to why you are gathered here today. So, I have put together a short speech, to explain what we are here to do."

I scan over the index card, clear my throat, and read it aloud.

 _"District 11 has had very few volunteers: exactly three volunteers in an entire century. This year's Quarter Quell required that every tribute must be a volunteer. A problem emerged when further analyzing the Quell: volunteers are extremely scarce here, and collecting two of them would take a very long time; so long that people may starve or die of dehydration waiting around for two youths to volunteer. So, I will momentarily select one boy and one girl. The young man and woman whom I reap shortly will be required to volunteer at the reaping next week."_

Uneasy looks spread across the faces of those in the crowd. Understandable, really. I imagine what it would feel like to think that you're safe from the game of death this year, and then be told that you might be selected to fight. I repulse at the thought.

Last week, the Mayor of District 10 and I got together and formulated this plan. He was very emotional about it all and said that it's the hardest decision he'd ever made in his life. I, quite the opposite of him, swiftly agreed to the plan. It makes perfect sense and seems like the best and most efficient plan. It's almost like a loophole to get around the Quell twist.

"As usual, ladies first" I announce as I stride over to the girl's reaping bowl. I fish around for a name before finally reaching into the behemoth of papers and picking out one. I start back over to the microphone, run my finger along the crease, and smooth out the paper.

"Lillian Forseberg" I announce. A hushed yelp of shock comes from one voice in the audience. Naturally, every head in the square turns towards the sound. The girl who produced it is very small and petite, with long, flowing locks of golden blond hair down her back. I can infer that it's Lillian.

"Please come up to the stage, Lillian" I repeat. Everybody in her section makes way for her as she darts up to the stage. I feel very bad for dooming this young girl to die. However, I compare this feeling to the feeling of watching people die of thirst in the square, and realize that this really was the best plan.

I take a good look at Lillian. She has a small, rounded face covered with freckles. Her stormy grey eyes seem deep, as if filled with feeling and life.

"Hello, Lillian" I say, handing her the microphone.

"Hi" she replies. Her voice is shaky, as if she's fighting back tears. I hurriedly take the microphone back from her. I do this because; if the cameras catch her crying her odds of getting any sponsor gifts will plummet to a tiny number that might as well be zero.

"Now, it's time to pick a boy." I shuffle over to the boy's reaping bowl, and fish for a name before walking back over to the microphone and unfolding the tightly folded slip of paper. I read the neat handwriting.

"Aster Sabatello!" I read.

It's less than ten seconds before one boy breaks off from the crowd and darts up to the stage. Once he's on the stage, I take a good look at him. Tall in height, he has short-dirty blond hair. Upon closer inspection, I can see that he's trembling. It might just be my imagination, but I swear that I can hear his heart beating fast. His face bears a completely blank expression. Somewhere, deep in his eyes, I can see that he's shaking with fear.

"Now, if somebody of eligible reaping age in the crowd would like to volunteer next week instead of one of these two, please say so now."

But, just as I expected, the entire square reminds silent, with only the evening wind volunteering to take their place.

"Very well. Lillian and Aster, you may return to your families for now."

The two tributes dart away from me and down the steps. Soon enough, they're sprinting across the square back to their sections, kicking up dust behind them as they run.

It takes a long time for the dust to settle.

* * *

 **Aster is in his room adding a new specimen to his flower collection.**

 **POV: Aster Sabatello (District 11 Male)**

The cover of the book that holds my flower collection makes a satisfying sound as I open it up. On the very first page of the old notebook is a beautiful, shimmering purple Aster. The flower for which I was named is beautifully preserved under a fine layer of acrylic sealant.

I flip the page again. The next page in the book proudly displays another flower. With its beautiful yellow center and starch white petals, the daisy is absolutely stunning, preserved in the same fashion as the aster.

I stop at each page to take in the beauty of each flower. A day lily comes next, followed by a Hyacinth, a Bluebell, Zinnia, Begonia, Camellia, Rose, Petunia, Magnolia, Orchid, Katniss, Alyssum, Anemone, Black Eyed Susan, Sunflower, and finally a Buttercup. I turn to the next blank page in the notebook.

I reach deep into the pocket of my jacket and pull out an absolutely stunning Dahlia. I take inventory of the flower. The petals are in pristine condition. The stem could be better, but it's not completely destroyed. The leaves on the stem are intact. Some roots have fallen off. The flower is beautiful albeit beaten up from being in my coat pocket for a week.

Yes, it's been in my coat pocket for a week. Here in District 11, we not only grow crops for the Capitol, but we also grow decorative flowers for Capitol households. My entire family works in this department, working long hours sowing seeds, picking flowers, tossing them into vases filled with water, and shipping them off to the Capitol.

Every now and then, if I see a stunningly beautiful flower, I'll check to make sure there aren't any peacekeepers around. If there is, I'll wait until they leave. If there isn't, I'll pick the flower and shove it deep inside my coat pocket to take home and add to my collection. If they caught me taking a flower that was meant to be shipped to the Capitol home, I would most likely be shot on sight or publically executed.

I gently stride over to my closet and take out the bowl of acrylic sealant I prepared earlier today. A very slimy and sticky mixture of tree sap, honey, flour, glue, nectar, and vanilla, it's sure to preserve anything. Gently, I set the bowl down on the floor, right next to my flower collection book.

I daintily set the beautiful Dahlia on the next plank page and flatten it out. I stick my fingers into the bowl and take them out. I carefully smear every part of the flower with the sealant until it's completely covered and shining like a star. Then, I stick some of the sealant on the back of the flower, and set it down on the page. Being made from such natural ingredients, it dries very quickly. It's not ten minutes before I scribble "Dahlia-found June 18" and gently close the book before stashing it in a secret compartment under a floorboard.

* * *

The grass is soothing and comforting. I feel the evening dew settling on my skin and sooth my wild spirit. I feel like a cloud. No—I am a cloud, the kind you see in the sky on a windy day. I come out here into the meadow whenever I'm scared, worried, or stressed. The sounds the birds make and the softness of the grass help me to calm down.

I listen to a bird tweet its two note melody. How beautiful its song is! That bird is free to fly wherever it wants. It's free to do whatever it wants; basically the polar opposite of people in District 11. We're the most heavily monitored district. Being the main source of food for the Capitol, we're kind of the most important and therefore the peacekeepers are the harshest here.

I finally focus on what I came here for; the fact that I'm required to volunteer at the reaping next week.

My first reaction when the mayor picked my name was, of course, shock. But, you can't act scared or weak to the Capitol audience, so I silently and calmly ran up to the stage next to the mayor.

The first thing I do when there's a very bad event in my near future is to relax and think about all of the things I'm doing right. Firstly, I stayed calm when the mayor picked my name. Of course, I was most definitely not calm on the inside, but I acted calm on the outside. Secondly, I could have a fair chance of winning the Hunger Games. Having worked with flowers all my life, I'm able to identify virtually any edible plant from a poisonous one. Thirdly, I have something good to show the gamemakers. I'm sure that there's an edible plant identification station in the private training room. Lastly, I'm a good climber. Having spent lots of time climbing trees to gather exotic flowers and fruit that grow on top of trees, I can climb spectacularly. These thoughts calm me slightly.

I lie down on my side, and beautiful smelling flowers brush my side. I stretch my muscles, and then relax. It's not long before sleep takes me and I doze off.

I wake up a few hours later to the daily message that curfew is in ten minutes, before hurriedly darting back to my house.

* * *

 **Lillian is out on her patio with her family.**

 **POV: Lillian Forseberg (District 11 Female)**

Dad begins strumming a beautiful melody on his guitar. We all know the words, so we sing along.

 _I remember the days in the open forest,  
Where the birds sang free and the dew was cool._

 _I remember the days in the open forest,  
Where the wolves howled deep into the shining moon_

 _I remember the days in the open meadow,  
where the wind was cool and the grass was green._

 _I remember the days in the open meadow,  
When all was still, and the world was at peace._

 _I remember the cold, harsh winter nights,  
when we huddled by a fire all filled with fright._

 _I remember the wolves screaming at the moon.  
What a treat it was to hear!  
Wild hearts without fear!_

The wind blows across the landscape, brushing the trees into a strange, melodic hum. Maybe it could be the same wind as in the song, the cool wind that blew across the meadow. Is that even possible? I look up at the moon; that beacon of light in a void of darkness. It's certainly the same moon in the song, the one the wolves howled at. Dotting the sky all over are tiny stars. Could they all be their own worlds? Are they all the same? Or is every world different? Perhaps there's a world somewhere, where I'm free of the Capitol's grasp, where _my_ wild heart without fear is unleashed.

Dad strums the final chord of the song on his old, beaten guitar that he's had for twenty years. We come out here every night to play it. We all sing along. Music is our outlet of freedom. It shows that there's a part of us that the Capitol can't control. And, every night, for a brief time, the family forgets that it is hungry and poor.

"What should we play next?" Dad asks. A grin crosses his face as it always does when he's about to enter a new song.

"Huh…" my sister Allium answers. "Maybe Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star?"

"Yeah! I like that one!" I exclaim in agreement. Dad begins strumming again, chuckling a little.

 _Twinkle, twinkle, little star,  
How I wonder what you are!_

 _Up above the world so high,  
Like a diamond in the sky!_

 _Twinkle, twinkle, little star,  
How I wonder what you are!_

I gaze up at the sky. Could those be the same stars in the song; twinkling in the sky like diamonds? I might never know as long as I live.

I meant to keep these rather spiritual questions to myself, but all of the sudden I blurt one out. "Do you think that all of those stars are different worlds?" I ask.

Mom is the first to reply. "Maybe they are. Maybe they're not. We may never know. Maybe one day, when we're long dead and our bodies long beneath the ground, we'll be able to travel to one! Can you imagine? See how the other worlds live differently from yours? Maybe ghosts are just long dead creatures from other worlds coming to ours for a visit!"

"Now, now, Mom, stop it with your stories again" Dad rolls his eyes.

"But, it's real! Those stars could be other worlds, every single one of them its own version of the same planet, just given the same starting condition!" Mom rebuts. "Like a butterfly effect!"

"The butterfly effect?" I ask, confused.

"Yeah" Allium answers. "It comes from an old story where an old man goes back in time and kills a butterfly. As a result, history is changed and the world is changed forever" she says matter-of-factly.

 _Oh, she always has to know everything._ I smirk a little.

Of course, this is the most precious time of day and we all beg Dad and Mom to let us stay outside just a few minutes longer, but it inevitably comes time to go back inside. Dad puts away his guitar in its case as Mom, Allium and I fold up the chairs and neatly stack them into a pile in the corner of the patio. We all hustle into the house.

A small, fat green couch awaits us in the front room. Next to it is a television, which we almost never use unless it's for the Hunger Games…

Oh, no. The Hunger Games. The entire thought comes crashing down on top of me like a pile of bricks. I have to volunteer tomorrow! I mean, I don't really want to, but can you imagine if I didn't? I would be looked down upon for the rest of my life! Everyone would see me as the selfish girl who refused to risk her own life and required someone else to die instead of her! I can't let that happen.

All of the sudden, my mature, thirteen year old self melts away and all that's left is a three year old, balling her eyes out and smacking on the floor with her fists. Mom runs into the room the instant I start making noise.

"I don't want to die, Mommy!" I exclaim, tears rushing from my eyes.

"It's fine, Lillian" she hurriedly rushes over to where I am and wraps her arm around me. "I love you so much. Tomorrow will be a very unpleasant day, but those are part of life. You'll make by in the arena; you always have. Now, let's go to the bed and lie together."

She helps me over to the bed like I'm a three-year-old, and we both lie together in silence for a while. All of the sudden, her soothing voice can be heard. She's singing.

 _Twinkle, twinkle, little star,  
How I wonder what you are!_

 _Up above the world so high,  
Like a diamond in the sky!_

 _Twinkle, twinkle, little star,  
How I wonder what you are!_

I sing along in my head. I look out the window into the ink black sky dotted with stars, as if somebody spilled salt over the black surface. This may be the last night I see them in my life.

* * *

The next day, I show up to the reaping as late as possible; I want to spare myself the awkwardness of everybody in the square intently staring at me, as if judging how long I'll survive in the arena.

"Next!" the peacekeeper exclaims as the girl in front of me starts off to her place in the reaping.

"Finger?" he requests harshly. I hurriedly stick my finger out onto the table in front of me. There's a sharp pinch as the needle jabs the tender flesh in my fingertip. He smears the blood on a small card labeled _"Foreseberg, Lillian"_. He jumps in shock at first after reading the name, then stares at me intently.

The only words I can form are "Yeah, it's really me" before I scurry off to my place in the reaping. Even the peacekeepers know that my fate was sealed the instant the mayor picked my name. As I expected, the entire square turns towards me as I walk. Some stare intently. Some shoot nervous glances for a millisecond at a time. Regardless, I feel like I'm in a square teeming with eyes, all intently focused on me.

It takes a painfully long time before everybody in District 11 is at the reaping. We're the second most populous district, after all.

Once the peacekeeper standing at attention in the bleacher to the left gives the mayor a signal that everything's ready, the mayor approaches the microphone.

"Welcome to the 100th annual reaping ceremony in District 11" he says into the microphone. Silence envelops the square; you could hear a pin drop. "I would now like to read the list of the courageous young men and women from our great district who have won the Hunger Games. Without further ado, here is a list of all of District 11's victors. "

"Seeder Kaiser, Chaff Korsmun, and Lily Eckel."

The crowd claps politely at our puny total of three victors

"Now, I would like to introduce the escort from your Capitol, Hera Backwin!"

The mayor rushes to the side and sits down in his chair as the Justice Building doors boom open. Waltzing onto the stage like a celebrity walks our escort, Hera Backwin. She wears a spring-green suit, and her dirty-blond hair is back in a ponytail with a flower charm. She's wearing enough pink makeup to paint a house on her face and arms.

She rapidly approaches the microphone. "Hello, hello! Welcome to the 100th annual Reaping Ceremony in District 11!" she chirps into the microphone. The crowd politely claps.

"Now, now, settle down. I know that it's a very exciting day for all of us, but we must contain our excitement for now! We must first read the treaty of treason, which describes to all of us why the Hunger Games exist!"

Hera reads over the treaty of treason; that short, fifty or so word long paragraph that we've heard everywhere. On television, at the reapings, on holidays, whenever we go to the market; basically anywhere there's people, there's a television or a radio rubbing the treaty of treason into our faces.

"Now comes the part you've all been waiting for!" Hera chirps. "It's time to select a young lady and a young man to represent this lovely district in the 100th annual Hunger Games!" People all around the square are beginning to shoot me nervous glances, as if making sure I'm here. The uncomfortable looks from people are getting more and more common by the minute.

Hera waltzes over the girl's reaping bowl. That's the only way to describe it. Waltzing. Her high-heeled shoes click over the ground, and she twists her body left and right as she moves. She stupidly claws around the bowl for a bit before finally picking a name out. She waltzes stupidly back over to the microphone, unfolds the tightly folded slip of paper, and clears her throat before scanning over the crowd with an imbecilic smile and reading the name out loud.

"Violet Freed" she reads jubilantly, giggling in excitement.

On cue, every single head in the square turns towards me. My heart skips a beat as my entire body freezes and my blood turns to ice. I could refuse to volunteer right now. But I can't do that. I imagine what the rest of my life would be like. Everyone would see me as the selfish girl who refused to volunteer when she was required to. I can't let that happen.

"I volunteer as tribute" I exclaim.

Hera reacts with such excitement that I'm pretty sure she's crying tears of joy. "Come on up now, so we can get your name!" she's excitedly squirming around like some sort of exotic sea creature as I dart up to the stage by her side.

"What's your name, honey?" she asks, shoving the microphone in her face. Her jubilant laughter disappears as it is no longer amplified by the microphone.

"Lillian Forseberg" I proclaim as I hand the microphone back to Hera.

"Well, Lillian, are you aware that you are the fourth volunteer in District 11's history?" Hera asks.

"Uh, huh" I reply.

"What an exciting day!" she gushes further. "But there's more excitement to be had! It's time to pick our male tribute!"

She sashays over to the boy's reaping bowl and does her usual make-a-dramatic-scene-as-she-claws-around-the-reaping-bowl-before-finally-picking-one-out thing. She leaps back over to the microphone and unfolds the tiny piece of paper.

"Rowan Ashwood!" she reads.

"I volunteer as tribute" says a boy hastily from the audience. We all know that its Aster, of course, the boy the mayor picked and required to volunteer last week. He darts up to the stage and stands by Hera.

"What's your name, young man?"

"Aster Sabatello."

"Are you excited?"

"Very."

He's not excited, though. There's something about his eyes. I can see in his eyes that he's absolutely terrified.

"Very well! I give you the two tributes from District 11 for the 100th Annual Hunger Games: Lillian Forseberg and Aster Sabatello!" Hera gushes.

"Now, come on, shake hands" says Hera.

We both shake hands up and down as we stare into each other's eyes. I don't view Aster as if he's an older kid who could crush me in eight seconds if he wanted to. Instead, I look to him as a friend, almost. Maybe we can be allies. Is that even possible? I might never know.

* * *

 **Aster is in receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Aster Sabatello (District 11 Male)**

My mother comes to say goodbye first. She sprints into the Justice Building and seems taken aback when she sees me with the bracelet that signals to the entire world that I'm a tribute. In District 11, ever since a tribute tried running away a few years ago, they give tributes bracelets that rapidly vibrate and screech loudly if we ever leave the Justice Building. You need a key to turn it off, which I don't have.

Mother silently walks over to where I sit on the fat purple couch. The couch reminds me of a word I've never used, only heard in old books: pristine.

She rests her hand on my shoulder, and we lock eyes for a few seconds, before a huge, wet tear tumbles from her left eye and lands on the floor, immediately absorbed in the dense carpet.

"I love you so much, Aster" she says as she leans towards me and wraps her arms around my torso. Her face is warm. She smells like fresh flowers. "Don't be afraid, honey."

"I love you, Mother" I reply, weeping a little bit myself. "I'm not afraid."

"No. Of course you aren't" she wipes her face with her shirt sleeve.

"Be sure to take care of things when I'm gone, alright? Make sure you feed the cat every day, and water the houseplants and the things that I normally do when I'm gone" I continue.

"We will" she weeps a bit more. "But I'm really going to miss you this next month. You have to promise to come back, okay?"

"Okay" I reply, pursing my lips. I might be able to come back home and live the rest of my life in peace in the victor's village. But I might not, and that thought terrifies me.

"What would you and dad do if I died?" the question bursts out of my mouth before I have time to register what I'm saying. But there's no taking it back now.

"I don't know what we would do" she sobs deeply.

"It's okay, Mother. I'll come home, I promise" I wrap my arm around her body, and we both get up off of the couch. She's always complimented me on my height; I'm tall for my age. We both stand there in each other's arms until the peacekeepers come to take her away.

All we can say is hurriedly yell our final 'I love you's and 'goodbye's and 'see you later's. Then, the last peacekeeper slams the door shut and silence seizes the world.

* * *

 **Lillian is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Lillian Forseberg (District 11 Female)**

The door thumps against the wall as it bursts open. I whip around in alarm to see that it's only Dad. His eyes filled with shock, he silently treads over to the couch and sits right next to me. Silent as a mouse, he wraps his arms around me and holds me close to his body. It's more than a minute before he lets go.

"I love you so much, Lillian" he says through a sob.

"I love you too, Dad" I reply, sobbing a little bit myself.

"You can get sponsors" is all he says. "What's your plan for the games?"

"Huh…" I venture, straining my brain for an answer to his question. "I guess I'll try to hide in the wild for most of the games. Being from District 11, I know how to identify all of the edible plants and animals."

"Is that what you'll show to the gamemakers?" he asks.

"I think so" I reply. "I'll probably get a high training score. Then, my probability of winning will go through the roof!"

"I think you can win" he says. "You're smart and clever, and you're really sneaky. I bet you could sneak by the careers without them hearing so much as a twig crack."

I smirk a little. "Thanks" is all I can say, because what else is there to say, really?

"If I won, what would we do with the money?" As I say this, his eyes glint with a hint of insanity. That calm outer appearance of his certainly masks a madman; an excited, anxious, creative mind just waiting to be called upon. But, in District 11, it'll never be called upon. The rules here are simple. Obey the peacekeepers, follow the rules, and you'll be fine. No room for creative arts here. Nope.

"I guess we could invest in a new guitar. They probably have lots of those in the Capitol. We might be able to start a family band" he answers. "We could even move to the Capitol."

Yes! We could move to the Capitol! We could escape this impoverished life and actually get to live! Wait, no. Why am I thinking so selfishly? Allowing the rest of District 11 to continue starving while we party twenty-five hours a day in the Capitol?

"You know, we could donate some of it to a charitable cause. We could actually use it to feed District 11's population" I say.

"Yes, that would we good" he replies.

I'm broken out of my wild, rowdy fantasies as the door booms open.

"Your time's up!" the harsh voice of a peacekeeper demands. It's all that dad has time to do to hug me one last time and say 'I love you' one last time before he rises and starts over to the peacekeepers. Two of them grab his arms from behind and escort him from the room.

* * *

 **Lily Eckel is instructing the tributes on the train to the Capitol.**

 **POV: Lily Eckel (District 11 Mentor and Victor of the 69** **th** **Hunger Games)**

I can quite honestly say that I absolutely despise my job as a mentor. How am I supposed to invest time and effort into two children who I know will be dead next month? By the looks of things, these two kids will be. I can tell by their scrawny posture and by the hollow looks in their eyes and faces that they're underfed.

"So, how are you today?" I ask them. Aster looks up from fidgeting with his tribute token, which looks to be a wooden bracelet with a flower charm. Lillian whips around from longingly glaring at the refrigerator in the corner.

"I'm fine" says Lillian.

"Me, too" says Aster. "How are you?"

"I'm as fine as I'll ever be" I chuckle a bit. But, I'm not fine at all. This is the time of year that I despise most of all. The time when I have to stop drowning myself in alcohol and accept the fact that I'll never escape the Capitol's grasp as long as I live.

"What should we do during training" asks Aster, who's now walking back from the refrigerator with an apple pie clutched in his grasp. The instant Lillian's eyes catch the delicious thing, she takes a sharp whiff and whips her head towards the fridge and darts off towards it.

"Well, dear, I would suggest that you spend most of your time at the survival stations. Those include fire starting, knot tying, and identifying which plants you can eat and which ones are poison. Being from District 11, you might already be satisfactory in all of those. If, perchance, you've mastered all of them after the first day or so, move on to the body stations; climbing, running, swimming and the like. Only go to the weapon stations if you've already mastered everything else."

He nods. Clutching the fork in his right hand, he stabs into the pie and pulls out a massive chunk before shoving it into his mouth. Lillian is close behind. I'm sure this is the first time in their lives that they've had good food. My train ride was certainly my first time.

I tell them to slow down and that they'll throw up if they keep eating that fast. Aster obediently eats slower, swallowing each bite before taking in another one. Lillian does the same. Nevertheless, the pies have disappeared down their throats after ten minutes. After an avox boy comes to dispose of the empty tray, the two tributes shuffle over to a bowl of pomegranates and sink their teeth deep into the tender skin.

"So, the number one thing that you have to remember in the arena is that you can't trust anybody. They all want to win as badly as you do, so take care around other tributes. Remember that, because it's a Quarter Quell, there's guaranteed to be an extremely vicious, awful arena. For the First Quarter Quell, the arena changed every day. For the Second Quarter Quell, everything in the arena was very poisonous. In the Third Quarter Quell, the arena was set up as a clock with twelve wedges, with the dangers in each wedge activating at a set time of day. Expect something extremely deadly and vicious this year."

They both nod.

"Also, the best cornucopia strategy is to grab the one or two things closest to you, then get yourself as far away from the center as possible. Spend the entire first day alternating between jogging and walking."

"Also, remember to stay away from the careers. I know it sounds like a given, but the careers are trained from an early age to find hidden tributes. They're skilled with detecting camouflage. They are even taught which sounds of rustling leaves are from wind and which are from human movement. They're like a pack of wolves, waiting for the kill."

I resolve to help these kids in the arena. Do whatever I can for them to keep them alive. As much as I say that out loud, deep in my heart, I can't imagine either of these kids moving into the victor's village next to me.

 **There's Aster and Lillian, the District 11 tributes! The reapings are drawing to a close now, and there's only one more reaping left until we really get into the juicy stuff. Please review and tell me what you think!**

* * *

 **Tribute Profiles:**

* * *

 **Name: Aster Sabatello**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 11**

 **Age: 14**

 **Social Class: Aster's family is middle class in District 11.**

 **Tribute Token: Wooden bracelet with flower charm**

 **Height: 71.3 inches**

 **Weight: 156.3 pounds**

 **Hair: Short; Dirty Blond**

 **Eyes: Amber**

 **Likes: Flowers, Spring, Playing Outside**

 **Dislikes: Mean People**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Grow up and become a florist who sells flowers. He's been collecting flowers since he was young and loves them.**

 **Strengths: Identifying Edible Plants, Fast Runner, Can Climb**

 **Weaknesses: Can't Swim, Impatient**

 **Fears: Losing his loved ones**

 **Attitude Towards Death: Death is just a natural, unavoidable part of life that has to come some day and is necessary to the circle of life.**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteers: He was randomly selected by lottery and forced to volunteer.**

* * *

 **Name: Lillian Forseberg**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 11**

 **Age: 13**

 **Social Class: Lillian's family is among the poorest in District 11.**

 **Tribute Token: Small, wooden flute; she loves singing with her family and wants to have something to remember them in the arena.**

 **Height: 63.2 inches**

 **Weight: 102.7 pounds**

 **Hair: Flowing, Golden Blonde in whorls down her back**

 **Eyes: Stormy Grey**

 **Likes: Music, Art**

 **Dislikes: Heights, Darkness**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Become a musician and do music for a living.**

 **Strengths: Stealth**

 **Weaknesses: Slow Runner, Slow Swimmer, Clumsy**

 **Fears: Darkness**

 **Attitude towards Death: She doesn't like it, but appreciates the fact that it has to come someday.**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: She was randomly selected by lottery and forced to volunteer.**

 **Published 7/16/17**


	14. The District 12 Reaping

**Chapter 14: The District 12 Reaping**

 **Danielle Koltser is taking medicine for her illness.**

 **POV: Danielle Koltser (District 12 Female)**

I feel a sharp pinch emanate through my arm as the hypodermic needle enters my tender flesh and the doctor pushes the plunger. I squeeze my eyes shut as an intense burning sensation slowly crawls up my arm. But, soon enough, the agonizing burn is replaced with an intense cooling sensation before disappearing altogether after about ten seconds.

"Alright!" the doctor exclaims, walking over to the garbage can and throwing the needle away. "She'll be good for another month with that medicine in her system. Be sure to ring me up in July when it's time for her next dose."

"Thank you so much!" exclaims Mom.

"Yeah" says Dad. "It really means a lot."

"No problem" the doctor replies before swinging open the door, walking out, and slamming the door behind him.

"Now, it's time to get _you_ into your reaping outfit!" Mom points at me playfully, smiling. "It's in the bathroom. Go change whenever you're ready; the reaping isn't until two."

It takes an enormous amount of effort for me to get up out of my chair. The medicine makes me weak for about ten minutes after every dose. Once I finally manage to stand up, I get super dizzy as the world spins around me and I almost fall over.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Dad exclaims in alarm as he runs over to me. He supports me with both arms and escorts me to the bathroom.

"You fine?" he asks, concerned.

"Yeah, you can go now" I reply.

"Alright, Danielle" he says gently as he leaves the bathroom and closes the door behind him. In front of me, on the sink counter, sits the most exquisite dress that I've ever seen. Covered with blue sequins so shiny they would probably glow in the dark, its aqua blue color reminds me of the ocean on a clear, sunny day. I can't even begin to fathom how expensive this dress must be. Mom and Dad must have saved their nickels for years to buy this! I'm extremely thankful that I can wear such a lovely thing to the reaping.

Hastily, I take all of my clothes off and throw them in the corner before gently putting on the dress and tying the purple sparkly drawstrings into a bow. I look absolutely stunning in the mirror. I turn around and push open the door before starting into the living room.

"What a beautiful dress for a beautiful girl!" Mom exclaims as she sees me. "Whoops! There's a little piece of cotton on your shoulder!"

I reach onto my left shoulder. My hand brushes against my long, brown hair before finding a huge clump of excess fuzz on my shoulder.

"Huh, how did that get there?" I ask, chuckling a little to myself. I start over to the garbage can to throw it away. Right there, in the very bottom of the garbage can, is the hypodermic needle that the doctor used to give me my medicine.

I need medicine once a month because of my disease. Nobody is quite sure where it comes from, but I've had a disease that I was born with that's so rare they don't even have a name for it. It causes my immune system to be very weak, so whenever I get sick, I get really, really sick. Also, it makes my nails really weird. They're really brown, and they're weak and crusty. Last, but certainly not least, it causes my life expectancy to plummet. The doctor says that I most likely won't live past age twenty-five. I'm very fortunate to have been born in a wealthy family. If I was born in the Seam, I would most certainly be dead by age five because I wouldn't be able to get any medicine if I got sick. Even for us, one of the richest families in District 12, the medicine is extremely expensive. We can't keep on spending half of our monthly income on my medicine.

I'm volunteering today. If I win the Hunger Games, we'll be so stinking rich that we'll be able to afford that medicine for the rest of my life. Even if I die, I don't really see how that could be an issue for my family. Being too young to work and a huge dent in how much money they have to spend on food and other necessities, the family would actually benefit from my death.

I toss the ball of cotton into the garbage can, right next to the needle. I'm determined to show life that it can't keep pushing me around the way it's been.

* * *

 **Julian Ackerly is playing hide-and-seek with his friends.**

 **POV: Julian Ackerly (District 12 Male)**

"Shhhh! Be really quiet!" Ryan says in a hushed whisper. I clap my hand over my mouth as I hear Jack, who's the seeker; open the door to the room. He's looking around the room now; I hear him checking under the bed. Suddenly, the closet door bursts open and he comes in, laughing.

"Found you guys!" he exclaims. "You know, the closet really is the worst hiding spot ever!"

I let out a laugh. "It's not like there are a lot of places to hide, though. It's Ryan's turn to be the seeker now."

"Alright!" says Ryan. "I'll go in the corner and count to twenty. Then, I'll come find you."

We wait for him to sit down in the corner, close his eyes, and begin counting. "1, 2, 3" he says. But we're already off, scampering down the hallway into the living room.

"Let's hide under the couch!" says Jack as we both hurriedly crawl under the huge couch. There's barely enough room under the big thing to fit two eighteen-year-olds. But, we squeeze into as compact of a shape as possible.

"Ready or not, here I come!" I hear Ryan yell from the bedroom.

"Shhhhh" I say to Jack. "Be super quiet!"

But, of course, it's not long at all before I hear Ryan's footsteps treading over the hard creaky wooden floor of the living room. I must admit that I find much exhilaration in playing this childish game. In fact, many people would say that eighteen-year-olds shouldn't be playing childish games, but I see it as innocent, wholehearted fun.

"I can see you under there" says Ryan. "You're not fooling me."

Jack abruptly lets out a giggle that gives us away. "Come on out!" says Ryan, a laugh tumbling from his lips.

Ryan laughs a bit more. "You know, you can't expect to stay hidden from me if you're giggling yourselves silly the entire time!" he says playfully.

"Alright, it's my turn to be the seeker!" I exclaim. I start over to the corner, close my eyes, and count to twenty. Once I'm done, I yell "ready or not, here I come!" before scampering off to find them.

* * *

 **Danielle Koltser is at the reaping.**

 **POV: Danielle Koltser (District 12 Female)**

I show up to the reaping as early as possible; you can't be too careful when the punishment for missing the reaping is death. I dart down the rundown streets of District 12 in complete silence, without a soul in evidence. After all, the reaping isn't until two o'clock. Might as well sleep in. If you can.

The square is eerily empty by the time I show up. I glance at a clock right above the Justice Building. 1:15. There are still forty-five minutes until out escort emerges and picks a girl and boy to enter the game of death this year. I take my time walking over to the area to sign in, knowing that getting there early will just mean a longer wait for the reaping to start.

"Finger?" the peacekeeper demands, a sharp needle in his gloved hand. I stick out my hand with my index-finger extended. The pinching sensation I know way too well plagues my finger for a few seconds, before the peacekeeper checking me in rips the needle out of my skin and smears the deep blood onto a card labeled _"Koltser, Danielle"_.

"Next!" the peacekeeper yells harshly as I clear the area and run off to the spot for thirteen-year-old females at the reaping.

It takes seemingly forever before the square is full. Ironic, really, because we have the smallest population of any district. At a puny population of just over two thousand, we all fit comfortably into the square with elbow room for everyone.

All of the sudden, everybody's nervous, hushed whispers are silenced as the Justice Building doors open up. Sauntering up to the microphone comes Tyche Melade, our escort. Tyche is just about as bland as District 12 is itself. How she got the job is a mystery. With about as much charm as a dead spider and as much enthusiasm as a toad, she clearly hates her job. She even dresses drearily; with her plain gray shirt and short black dress, she's a perfect match for the blandest district in the country.

I can't help but notice that she brought a chair onto the stage with her.

"Hello, everyone" she drones blandly into the microphone. Of course, I zone out instantly when she starts reading the treaty of treason. Then, the mayor comes up and gives us a speech about how the Hunger Games are a reminder to never rebel, and reads the list of all the past victors from District 12. In one hundred years, we have had exactly four. None are still alive.

Tyche approaches the microphone once more. "Well, I guess it's time to pick a girl tribute now" she drones unenthusiastically as she approaches the girl's reaping bowl. She swirls her hand around the reaping bowl for a good ten seconds, and silence envelops the square as I fill with nervous tension. Tyche walks back over to the microphone and unfolds the tightly folded slip of paper before reading it out loud.

"Brooke Nelson" she reads. "Any volunteers?"

I wait around for a few seconds before I volunteer, just in case there's another anxious volunteer. But, of course, there are none.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I exclaim before darting up to the stage next to Tyche. The square is so sparse with people that nobody has to make way for me; I can just weave though the spaces between people as they shoot me nervous glances.

"What's your name?" gasps Tyche, handing me the microphone. She seems extremely taken aback at the sight of a District 12 volunteer. Here in District 12, volunteers are all but extinct. We've only had one volunteer ever, a girl who volunteered for a sister a few decades ago and died.

"Danielle Koltser" I say firmly, trying not to shake. Of course, this is the best thing for my family, but my heart drops into my stomach when I spot Mom and Dad in the audience, their faces red as they clap their hands over their mouths. A woman next to my mom whispers her words of comfort.

"Now, it's time to pick our boy tribute" drones Tyche once more as she approaches the boy's reaping bowl. She fishes for a name from the bowl before walking back over to the microphone. I might just be seeing things, but I can swear that there's a spring in her step as she unfolds the tightly-folded slip of paper and reads it aloud for all to hear.

"Mikey Davis" she ventures, scanning over the crowd and desperately hoping for another volunteer as swift as me.

Silence grips the square.

* * *

 **The boy's name has just been reaped, and Julian Ackerly is waiting around for somebody to volunteer.**

 **POV: Julian Ackerly (District 12 Male)**

We all expected this to happen. Awkward tension grips the square as anxious, uncomfortable looks cross the faces of everybody in the audience. We're all waiting for someone to volunteer. Waiting for somebody to give into the pressure and self-proclaim themselves as a contender in the game of death this year.

Seconds morph into minutes, and minutes bleed into hours. The relentless sun beats down, and my throat is so dry that whenever I swallow I have to wait twenty seconds for my two tonsils to peel away from each other like sticky notes. We're all miserable. The terrified looks on the faces of everyone in the audience make it even worse. Their horrified expressions get more and more grave by the minute.

All of the sudden, an extremely disturbing thought crosses my mind, and I clap my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out in fear. _What if nobody volunteers? What if people die of heat stroke or dehydration?_

The worst part, though, is not the heat, or the horrified looks on the faces of the teens all over, but our escort Tyche. She stares hopefully, almost longingly at us. Her expression is a little too…understanding. A picture says a thousand words, as they say, and Tyche's expression certainly says thousands of words. They say so much. _I feel your pain. I know what you're going through. Stay strong._

I close my eyes extremely tightly, so hard that I see lights everywhere. I'm going off to somewhere else. To the other side. If whatever my parents believe is true, there' some powerful force out there who has a plan for each of us. The thought makes me feel safe and secure.

I jerk up in alarm as a hollow, thumping sound fills the square. Not ten feet in front of me, a boy lies on the ground, blood leaking from his left temple. I don't even process what I'm doing. It's like my feet have a mind of their own, but I dart up to the boy and crouch down on the ground next to him. My heart drops into my stomach when I feel his forehead. Boiling hot and extremely dry. I stick my finger into his mouth and pull it out to find it almost completely dry. One thing's for sure; he fainted from dehydration.

I don't know who this boy is. But, all of the sudden, an intense anger builds up inside me so strong that I can't see straight. My entire body rings with fury. Fury to the Capitol for killing twenty-three innocent boys and girls every year. Fury to the officials for letting the Capitol bully us around and just standing by because there's nothing they can do. But, most strongly, an intense, passionate hatred towards everybody that has anything to do with the annual child-murdering competition that the Capitol adores, and the district citizens live in terror of.

The words escape my lips before I even process them.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I scream angrily. I can't let this happen. I can't let more children suffer the same fate as this boy. I will show the Capitol that I'm more than just a piece in their games. I dart up to the stage faster than I ever have in my life. Tyche looks extremely taken aback. Before she even asks for my name, I grab the microphone off of the stand.

"My name is Julian Ackerly" I say firmly before handing the microphone to Tyche. She clumsily shakes her head as if to shake off this thought before speaking.

"Very well!" she builds it up to say. "I give you the tributes from District 12: Danielle Koltser and Julian Ackerly. Shake hands, you two."

I shake hands with Danielle. Now that my fit of pure rage has worn off and I can see straight, I can make some observations about her. With long, brown hair tumbling down her back in whorls, she has a rather scrawny build. Even the richest people in District 12 are underfed. Her watery blue eyes seem deep and focused, as if filled with wonder.

"This concludes the reaping" says Tyche, resuming her bland and boring attitude. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

* * *

 **Danielle Koltser is receiving visitors in the Justice Building.**

 **POV: Danielle Koltser (District 12 Female)**

Dad is remarkably quiet as he opens the door of the small room I'm in and gently closes it behind him. He treads softly over the carpeted floor before sitting down on the couch next to me.

"Danielle, what were you thinking?" he asks harshly. At this, tears of guilt begin streaming down my face.

"I thought that, if I won, we could afford my medicine!" I sob.

"Danielle, we can afford that stuff for you already. There wasn't any need to volunteer. But, now that we're in this situation, we'd better make the best of it. I love you so much, Danielle. When you're in that arena, you have to remember that you don't have to be the strongest or tallest or most robust to win. You just have to be the smartest. You have such an intelligent mind. Use it."

"I love you, Dad!" I sob, wrapping my arms around him.

"I love you more" he repeats, doing the same.

Why me? Why a girl from District 12, whose family can barely put food on the table in the first place? Why this world? Why this harsh, cruel one with poverty, disease, starvation, and the aristocratic Capitol's rule? We live in a horrible place, where parents gamble the lives of their dear children for a little extra grain.

A constant stream of tears is flowing out of my eyes now. "But what if I die?" The question tumbles from my lips before I even process it.

"No, no, no!" Dad exclaims. "You can't afford to think that way anymore. You have to be optimistic. And you have to be strong."

"But I don't want to die, Dad!" I exclaim, bursting into a deep sob once more.

"Danielle, listen to me! Nobody said that you're going to die. You could win. I know you can."

His confidence in my ability to win comforts me a little bit. But there's still that nagging feeling in the back of my head that tells me District 12 hasn't had a victor in almost three decades, and that I probably won't win.

There'll be boys twice my size there. There'll be girls who know nine-hundred different ways to kill you with a rope. There'll be people who've trained since they were babies to be hostile, sociopathic killers. Dad's right. What was I thinking? My foolish, young mind thought that this would be a good idea. But nope.

Once the peacekeepers barge in to take Dad away, there's a long duration of silence until I realize that mom isn't coming. I honestly can't blame her. I hate myself too.

* * *

 **Julian Ackerly is on the train to the Capitol.**

 **POV: Julian Ackerly (District 12 Male)**

They didn't let anybody come to say goodbye. The instant the reaping was over, two peacekeepers abruptly grabbed me from behind and hauled me off to the train. Maybe it's because the Capitol just doesn't care about District 12 because they know that we'll both be dead soon. But, then, again, Danielle tells me that her dad came to say goodbye. It must be because of how foolish and angry I acted during the reaping. The Capitol must see a rebel in me. I should be scared, because that means the president will probably give the gamemakers personal orders to have me killed, but I let out a chuckle because what else is there to do?

"What's so funny?" Danielle asks, turning her head towards me.

"Nothing" I answer. "Maybe we should watch all of the reapings. You know, just to see what competition we're up against."

"Good idea" says Danielle as she reaches over to the remote and pushes the 'on' button. "I guess we already have a disadvantage because we have no mentor. All of District 12's victors are dead."

The part she doesn't say is _'the Capitol doesn't care enough about us to even pay attention to us, so our odds of surviving are basically rock bottom anyways.'_

The television turns on and Danielle flicks through the channels rapidly until we find Capitol TV. Of course, the televisions on the trains actually have high-definition premium footage of all of the reapings that we watch over.

District 1's tributes are, of course, swiftly replaced by volunteers. The same is true for the other career districts: districts 2 and 4. For district 3, the female is replaced quickly enough and the male takes a bit more time. Districts 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 have volunteers quickly enough, but 10 and 11 are almost instantaneous.

And then our reaping comes on. I observe that Danielle waits five or six seconds before volunteering. But, by the decided look on her face, I can tell she was planning to all along.

"Why did you volunteer?" I blurt out.

"Huh… Well, I have this terminal illness that means I probably won't live past age twenty-five. I volunteered because the medicine for it is ridiculously expensive and I need a new dose once a month. The monetary prize that the victor gets could help my family afford that stuff. Maybe I could even be cured by high-tech Capitol medicine. If I die, though…" she cuts herself off before finishing her sentence.

I know better than to ask her to finish the sentence, so I divert my attention back to the television instead.

When Tyche picks the male tribute's name, the entire square is gripped with silence. The camera, naturally, zooms into my face. For the first time ever, I realize just how hopeless I look. I look weak. Oh, well. I'm probably going to die anyways. The interesting part comes when the boy in front of me faints from dehydration and I try to help him before volunteering. I wonder if he's all right.

"Why did _you_ volunteer?" Danielle asks. "I think we should get to know each other a little better. You know, take inventory of our opposition."

"Oh, when that boy fainted, I felt so angry…" I cut myself off when I realize that this train is most definitely tapped if not being broadcasted to all of Panem in high-definition. "Er… I know the boy that was reaped. You know, what was his name, Mikey Davis? Well, I knew him, and I know he's so helpless and wouldn't stand a chance in the games, so I volunteered for him."

In reality, I have no idea who Mikey Davis is. I'm sure that, wherever he is back home in District 12, he's wondering who I am and how I know him. The real reason I volunteered, of course, was by accident. The words came out of my mouth during a fit of rage and hatred towards the Capitol. The boy who uttered those words wasn't me. I mean, he looks exactly like me, but it was another kid. Not the Julian I know. When you're angry, you're not in charge of yourself anymore. Anger is.

"Oh…" says Danielle sympathetically. "That's sweet."

It takes me a while to realize that I probably just earned myself a few sponsors for that little fib. Sponsors who want to support the kid who volunteered for a kid weaker than himself.

Then, Tyche, our escort, walks into the room.

"I got you some refreshments" she says in her standard, depressing voice. "Apple juice" she continues before leaving the room.

Apple Juice? I remember drinking apple juice when I was ten years old. I visited the miller to see how it's made. They crush the apples and then sprinkle in some sugar. It was the most delicious thing that I had ever tasted. At the memory, I practically lunge towards the table and inhale the entire glass of juice. It's the most delicious thing I've ever eaten in my life. It's more than just crushed apples with some sugar. This was manufactured in the high-tech factories of the Capitol, laced with so many chemicals I'm sure I could fill an entire book with all of their names.

"Hey, Danielle, try this apple juice, it's super delicious!" I say. "And I'll take the other glass if you don't first!" I say teasingly.

An awkward look spreads over her face. "Um… The district doctor says that I'm not supposed to drink juice. The sugar content is too much for my body, with my disease and all."

"Oh, sorry" I say apologetically.

"It's fine" she replies.

We both stride back over to the couch and lounge around on it eating cookies from the cookie machine. We'll probably be dead within the next month, so we might as well make the most of our last days, right?

* * *

 **There we go! The reapings are now finished. After almost three months, all twelve of the reapings are up! Shortly after this chapter is posted, I'll post a 'reaping review' chapter that'll provide a quick summary of all of the tributes. Please review and tell me what you think!**

* * *

 **Tribute Profiles:**

* * *

 **Name: Julian Ackerly**

 **Gender: Male**

 **District: 12**

 **Age: 18**

 **Social Class: Julian's family is middle-class in District 12.**

 **Tribute Token: None**

 **Height: 70.7 inches**

 **Weight: 165.9 pounds**

 **Hair: Natural Blond**

 **Eyes: Ocean Blue**

 **Likes: The Outdoors**

 **Dislikes: Heights**

 **Goals/Ambitions: None; he doesn't really know what to do with his life since the only jobs in District 12 are boring.**

 **Strengths: Strong, Fast Runner**

 **Weaknesses: Can't Swim, Bad with a Knife**

 **Fears: No "phobia" per se, just the typical ones like spiders and snakes.**

 **Attitude Towards Death: He thinks that there's something after death, but doesn't really think about it that much.**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: He was blinded by a fit of rage when a boy fainted of dehydration.**

* * *

 **Name: Danielle Koltser**

 **Gender: Female**

 **District: 12**

 **Age: 13**

 **Social Class: Danielle's family is among the wealthiest in District 12.**

 **Tribute Token: Small, Glass Marble**

 **Height: 57.8 inches (she's short because of her illness)**

 **Weight: 108.1 pounds**

 **Hair: Golden Brown in whorls down her back.**

 **Eyes: Ocean Blue**

 **Likes: Flowers and Spring**

 **Dislikes: Hunger**

 **Goals/Ambitions: Do something, anything to get enough money to afford her medicine.**

 **Strengths: Good Hider**

 **Weaknesses: Slow Runner, Can't Swim, Can't Climb, Can't Jump High**

 **Fears: Dying before she's truly gotten to live a happy life.**

 **Attitude towards Death: She's agnostic and fears death, but accepts that it will come someday.**

 **Training for the Hunger Games: None**

 **Reason for Volunteering: The monetary prize given to the victor could help her family afford the medicine for her illness.**

* * *

 **Published 7/23/17**


	15. Reaping Review

**Chapter 15-Reaping Review:**

 **District 1-Luxury:**

Male:

Abalone Toteston (17) 5'10.1" 148.6 lbs

Black Hair, Brown Eyes

Skilled with knife, machete, bow, and speed

Bad hearing, nearsighted

Token is a diamond bangle

Trained at Combat Academy for 11 years

Female:

Sapphire Peretz (18) 5'6.3" 132.0 lbs

Straight, Brown Hair; Ocean Blue Eyes

Skilled with knife, bow, gun, swimming, and climbing

Clumsy, socially insecure

Token is a wooden ball

Trained at Combat Academy for 12 years

 **District 2-Masonry:**

Male: 

Colton Chancler (16) 7'3.9" 151.0 lbs

Dirty Blond Hair, Blue Eyes

Skilled in swimming, climbing, running, jumping, knife, bow, and machete

Bad vision in left eye

Token is a grey stone.

Trained at Combat Academy for 11 years

Female:

Emma Walker (15) 6'2.1" 148.5 lbs

Brown Hair, Stormy Grey Eyes

Skilled with bow, climbing, running, swimming, knife, gun, identifying edible plants

Can be careless at times

Token is a glass orb

Trained at Combat Academy for 9 years

 **District 3-Technology:**

Male:

Cirkyt Kanik (12) 5'8.1" 125.8 lbs

Blond Hair, Blue Eyes

Skilled with stealth and intelligence

Weak, slow, can't swim

Token is a screw

Volunteered to help his family open a corner shop

Female:

Gyzmo Kressin (18) 5'7.9" 129.0 lbs

Red Hair, Amber Eyes

Skilled with knife, bow, spear, and machete

Can't swim

Token is a silver bracelet

Volunteered to live up to her mother, who is a victor

 **District 4-Fishing:**

Male:

Nathan Kaputo (17) 5'8.9" 152.0 lbs

Blond Hair, Sea Green Eyes

Skilled in swimming, running, climbing, sword, machete, bow, stealth, and intelligence

Can't jump high

Token is a fishing hook

Gone to Combat Academy for 8 years

Female:

January Frable (12) 5'2.1" 100.0 lbs

Brown Hair, Stormy Grey Eyes

Skilled with knife, bow, machete, speed, and stealth

Weak and young

Token is a wooden bead bracelet

Gone to Combat Academy for 9 years

 **District 5-Power:**

Male:

Dorian Bacchmuth (18) 6'3.4" 169.2 lbs

Brown Hair, Blue Eyes

Skilled with knife, stealth, bow, climbing, swimming, running, and intelligence

Bad hearing

Token is a metal rod

Trained himself since he was young

Female:

Ambrosia Clemens (13) 5'11" 100.0 lbs

Long, Brown Hair; Amber Eyes

Skilled with stealth

Slow runner, can't swim, and can't climb

Token is a silver necklace

Volunteered to avenge her parents, who abandoned her to move to the Capitol

 **District 6-Transportation:**

Male:

Michael Leftwich (14) 5'8.1" 125.1 lbs

Blond Hair, Deep Blue Eyes

Good Aim

Slow runner, can't swim

Token is a metal cube

Volunteered to escape the orphanage

Female:

Anna Kerkelie (17) 5'8.3" 123.5 lbs

Brown Hair, Amber Eyes

Skilled with stealth, a fast runner

Can't swim

Token is a locket with a picture of her sister

Volunteered to avenge the death of her sister Darla

 **District 7-Lumber:**

Male:

Grover Huttchings (16) 5'3.8" 112.1 lbs

Short, Brown Hair; Blue Eyes

Skilled with stealth and speed

Can't swim or climb

Token is a wooden ball

After being caught stealing food, he was forced to enter the Hunger Games as punishment.

Female:

Amber Symons (13) 5'10.3" 120.9 lbs

Blond Hair, Stormy Grey Eyes

Skilled with axe, stealth, and speed

Can't climb or swim

Token is diamond earrings

She volunteered because she thinks she can win because she's skilled with an axe

 **District 8-Textiles:**

Male:

Justin Kirsten (18) 5'7.3" 130.4 lbs

Short, Blond Hair; Blue Eyes

Strong, Tall, Fast Runner

Can't swim or climb, impatient

Token is a metal ring

He volunteered to help get medicine for his sick brother Noah

Female:

Calico Alpert (13) 6'2.1" 123.3 lbs

Long, Brown Hair; Deep Blue Eues

Sly, Stealthy, Fast Runner

Can't Swim, Clumsy, Unintelligent

Token is a metal bracelet.

She volunteered because she wants to move to the Capitol and become a famous dancer

 **District 9-Grain:**

Male:

Jackson Harte (16) 5'7.3" 128.1 lbs

Short, Brown Hair; Stormy Grey Eyes

Skilled with intelligence, stealth, fast runner

Clumsy, weak with weaponry

No tribute token

Volunteered to help his family escape poverty

Female:

Kennedy Seibold (17) 5'8.2" 128.8 lbs

Black Hair, Blue Eues

Fast runner, fast swimmer, good hider

Impatient and unintelligent

Token is a small, gold friendship bracelet

Volunteered to help her family escape poverty

 **District 10-Livestock:**

Male:

Colton Spears (14) 5'4.3" 108.6 lbs

Dirty Blond Hair, Blue Eyes

Fast runner, stealthy, good with a knife

Can't climb or swim

Token is a small rock

Randomly selected by lottery and required to volunteer

Female:

Amanda Boix (12) 5'1.9" 100.0 lbs

Chesnut Brown Hair in a Ponytail, Amber Eyes

Stealthy, skilled with slingshot

Young, slow runner, can't swim or climb

Token is a leather bracelet given to her by her mother

Randomly selected by lottery and required to volunteer

 **District 11-Agriculture:**

Male:

Aster Sabatello (14) 6'11.3" 156.3 lbs

Short, Dirty Blond Hair; Amber Eyes

Skilled in identifying edible plants and running

Can't swim, impatient

Tribute Token is a wooden bracelet with a flower charm

Randomly selected by lottery and required to volunteer

Female:

Lillian Forseberg (13) 5'3.2" 102.7 lbs

Golden Blonde Hair in Whorls; Grey Eyes

Stealthy

Slow runner, can't swim, clumsy, young and weak, bad with weaponry

Tribute Token is a small wooden flute

Randomly selected by lottery and required to volunteer

 **District 12-Mining:**

Male:

Julian Ackerly (18) 6'10.7" 165.9 lbs

Natural Blond Hair, Ocean Blue Eyes

Strong, Fast Runner, Good Climber

Bad with Weaponry, Can't Swim

No tribute token

Blinded by a fit of rage and volunteered when a boy fainted of dehydration

Female:

Danielle Koltser (13) 4'9.8" 108.1 lbs

Golden Brown Hair, Ocean Blue Eyes

Good Hider

Slow runner, can't jump high, impatient, can't climb or swim

Tribute Token is a small, glass marble

Volunteered because the monetary prize given to the victor could help the family afford her medicine.

* * *

 **So, what do you think? Do you have favorite tributes? Least favorite tributes? Suggestions for who should die early, and who should live longer? Please review with any suggestions! Next week's chapter will be the tribute's reactions to arriving in the Capitol.**

* * *

 **Published 7/23/17**


	16. The Chariot Ride

**Chapter 16-The Chariot Ride:**

 **I know that last chapter I said that I was going to write the tribute's reactions to arriving in the Capitol in this chapter. I tried to write that, but there's not much you can write for all twenty-four tributes without just repeating yourself over and over and over again until you smash your face into your computer because you lose all motivation to keep new ideas flowing. So, this chapter is the chariot ride/tribute parade. Enjoy!**

 **Side note: I have a new poll on my profile. It's just on who you would have wanted to win the third quarter quell had it not been stopped. It's not related to this story or anything; I was just curious what you guys and girls would think. I would appreciate if you would consider voting.**

 **President Lock is watching the chariot rides from his mansion.**

 **POV: Caligula Lock (President of Panem)**

I simply adore the chariot rides. Dare I say I enjoy them even more than the games themselves? Not only do I get to see all of the tributes and size them up whilst forming some ideas about who will probably die later and who to dismiss as a bloodbath kill, I also get to see the tribute's reactions to being in front of hundreds of thousands of people. Either way, the chariot rides are a crucial part of the Hunger Games and are immensely enjoyed by everybody.

Additionally, the chariot ride takes place in the square right in front of my mansion. So, without even having to plan the thing, I can just slip on a cheap suit and sit outside on the balcony with my wife as we watch the chariots roll by. It's a luxurious Saturday activity.

"What do you think of the tributes this year?" my wife asks me in a hushed whisper. Even though we're not being broadcasted to the entire country yet, it just wouldn't do for people to overhear a conversation between the president and his wife.

"Well, dear, I think there's a very interesting array of tributes. Especially from the outlying districts; they rarely have volunteers, and these ones all seem to have their own motivations to enter the games. I'm sure it'll be extremely entertaining to watch." I reply in the same whisper as her.

The anthem blares as the door with all the chariots behind it opens up slowly like a garage door. I catch a short glimpse of assistants hurriedly shuffling around to get things ready before District 1's chariot comes into view. Up until about a decade ago, the chariots came in all at once. However, a new tradition has begun that the chariots go through one at a time. For example, District 1's chariot will ride through. Once it's done going down the path, District 2's chariot will enter, and so on, until District 12's chariots are gone and I have to give a short speech to the crowd. I put my feet up on the ottoman and reach for a sip of my tea as District 1's chariot rides through.

The District 1 chariot is ivory colored and appears to be made of solid quartz. It is pulled by beautiful snow-white horses that silently tread over the path. Abalone, the male tribute from the luxury district, wears a beautiful jacket that appears to be made of layers and layers of fur wrapped over one another. Frayed at the ends, the outfit gives the appearance of a luxury fur jacket. All over the suit, jewels are inlaid in the material. Although most sparkle brilliantly like diamonds, some are duller and are one solid color. For example, near his left shoulder is a grouping of plain red stones, and a collection of purple stones is near his right shoulder. His hair is slicked back. His legs are covered with fur leggings that I'm sure would be very comforting on a hot day. Sapphire, the female tribute from the district, wears an exquisite pink flowing dress that fills up her entire chariot. Glimmering with thousands of sky-blue diamond gems inlaid in the cloth, the dress practically glows in the dark. Her chestnut-brown hair tumbles down her back in a perfect ponytail with a pristine flower charm woven into the hair. The two kids are smiling madly and waving at the crowd left and right. The crowd roars in approval, admiration for the two tributes flowing through the audience. These two children look absolutely stunning. Their stylists certainly did a fantastic job embodying the characteristics of District 1. I will be sure to compliment them later.

The District 2 chariot wheels by. Seemingly made of the very stone that comes from deep under the Earth, a cobblestone pattern covers every inch of the chariot. It is pulled by greyish-silver colored horses that clop over the pathway. Each of the tributes appears to represent one of the two industries of District 2: masonry and peacekeepers. Emma's outfit clearly relates to masonry. A long, whitish-greyish dress swirls around her lower body and fills up her chariot, small parts of it spilling over the edge. Her torso is covered by a greyish-white coat of what looks to be spray paint. Her face is covered by an extremely intricate rock design that looks to be done with makeup. Her hair is back in a ponytail down her spine tied with a silver hair-tie, and she's wearing black contacts. She holds a hammer in her left hand marked with the seal of District 2, and she holds a chisel in her right hand. The tools are obviously there to connect to District 2's industry of stone mining. Colton, on the other hand, clearly represents District 2's other industry of training peacekeepers. He wields dangerous-looking weaponry in each hand: a curved sword in his left and a gun in his right. Wearing a white suit that reminds me of that of a peacekeeper, his hands are covered by black gloves. He wears a white helmet not unlike a peacekeeper's. However, his face is exposed so that the audience (and me) can see him; it wouldn't do for a tribute to have their face covered during the chariot ride. The two kids are smiling excitedly and waving to the crowd. Many people even throw flowers and other trinkets as tokens of their admiration. I refrain from clapping my hands over my ears at the deafening roar of the crowd.

The District 3 tributes emerge next. Their chariot seems to be made out a starchy silver metal: the smooth, flat kind you might in an old laptop computer. It is pulled by two almond colored horses that create a nice contrast with the color of the chariot itself. Gyzmo, the female tribute, wears a skirt seemingly made of hundreds of thousands of wires woven together, not unlike the ones you or I might find inside of an electrical appliance. Although most of the wires are as plain as a medium gray, there are a few red ones and a few black ones scattered around in there. She wears black, high heeled shoes, and her shirt is covered by so many silver sequins that I can almost see myself reflected back to me on the surface. Her head is dominated by a huge hair piece consisting of hundreds of tiny gears spinning and whizzing and churning. They make a quiet clicking sound as they operate, calculatingly working together to morph and shape the hairpiece and leave it perpetually changing. The male tribute, whose name I remember to be Cirkyt, is dressed up and down with dark, forest green. The green fabric is covered all over with silver rods similar to that of a circuit board. I chuckle quietly to myself at the irony of the costume: dressing the kid named Cirkyt as a circuit board. Furthermore, he wears plain black dress shoes and his short, blond hair is slicked back. The two kids wave tentatively to the audience with looks of both exhilaration and terror in their eyes. The audience roars in response, a wave of approval flowing through the audience. Some even stand up to show their admiration. This seems to encourage the tributes, because their smiles become that much more genuine and their waves seem to become much more passionate and meaningful.

The District 4 chariot clearly relates to fishing. I infer that the stylists this year decided to focus less on fish and more on the water from which fish comes from. The chariot is covered with blue scales like that of an exotic marine animal, and seaweed strangles the chariot in some places, wrapped around and around, coiling around the feet of the tributes. It is pulled by two sea-blue horses with their manes tangled in seaweed. Of course, sea blue horses don't exist in nature, but the highly developed scientists in the Capitol can splice DNA to make any type of animal they want. It's a rather fascinating thing to watch. Nathan is covered head to toe with a prosthetic type of makeup or other that makes him appear to be covered with aqua colored scales. With a magnificent glass crown on his head, his hair is dyed blue and colorful scales decorate his feet. All up his legs are covered with scales: yellow, red, purple and like. January wears a simple white dress going from her torso and tumbling down around her feet: the kind Capitolites would typically wear to a wedding or other formal event. However, the dress is absolutely tangled with seaweed. All over, seaweed grips the surface of the dress with no signs of letting go. Her head is dominated by a massive headdress that reminds me of a piece of coral or an anemone, and her face is covered with enough purple and pink makeup to paint a house. She wears purple contacts, and her brown hair is back in two ponytails down her back. Huge grins are plastered across the faces of the two kids; they wave happily and excitedly to the audience, constantly glancing at themselves on the camera board. They look absolutely stunning. In fact, I can't help but pull the rose out of my lapel and shower it upon the two kids. The audience roars louder than ever before, many people whooping and cheering or even standing up to show their admiration.

District 5 is no less entertaining than the first four districts. The entire chariot is made out of a default iron metal: or so it seems. After a few moments, one of the tributes in the chariot subtly presses a button in front of them and a massive spark of electricity is expelled from the surface of the metal, shooting away from the chariot into the air before being dissolved in the blink of an eye. It is followed by another and another until the entire chariot seems to be encased in a cage of lightning, zapping and lunging at the air, coiling around and around the chariot. It's like the thing is a cloud, zapping lightning at seemingly random times. The chariot is pulled by golden yellow horses who I'm sure must be completely heat resistant because they look completely unfazed by the entire show. Dorian and Ambrosia seem to represent two different methods of generating electricity. Dorian's costume clearly represents solar energy. He wears a golden-yellow shirt that's glowing a deep amber color. His legs are decorated by a series of glass panes that remind me of that of a solar panel. He wears a magnificent headdress: a crown covered with golden points, exquisitely crafted and inlaid with red jewels. Ambrosia, on the other hand, seems to represent hydroelectric power. She wears a long, flowing blue dress that's so big that parts of it spill over the edge of the unit. Her torso is covered with a shirt seeming to consist of hundreds if not thousands of tiny gears, whizzing around and perpetually changing. The net of gears and wires that make up her shirt is so thick that I can't even see through the gaps no matter how hard I try. She wears a magnificent blue crowd that looks to be fashioned out of sea water itself. All of the sudden, the chariot fills up with water! I squint and put on my glasses to make sure that I'm not seeing things, but it really is! Once it's filled up with about an inch of water, the pipes and tubes and wires in Ambrosia's costume begin sucking the water up, and the clear liquid begins zipping around her body, helping the wheels to turn and the gears to move before spilling over her neck and back onto the ground, only to go through the process again. For the first time, the realization hits me that she's a dam! The ground is the water from a river or ocean, and she's the dam to which water enters and is used to spin turbines before being spit out the back for later use! I can't help but notice that Dorian looks over to Ambrosia with a look of jealousy and envy on his face that her outfit is more exciting than his. I noticed during the reapings that Dorian quite literally lunged forward to volunteer, so I can imagine he's not pleased that a girl five years younger than him is stealing all of the attention.

I always pity District 6 stylists because transportation is usually the hardest industry to incorporate into an outfit. My low expectations of the chariot outfits are smashed into the ground when their chariot emerges. The chariot is aqua blue in color and shimmers in the overhead lights like water. It is pulled by vanilla colored horses. The tributes inside wear even more stunning costumes. Anna wears a long, dark dress as black as the night that tumbles down her feet and spills over the side of the chariot. All over, the dress is dotted with white and gold specks. The realization hits me that she's dressed as the night sky! Her face is colored with black make up dotted with paint. Or maybe it's white powder sprinkled on her face. Either way, the message is clear. The costume is based off of how, before the Great Disaster, people used the stars for navigation and guidance when they were traveling by sea. The chariot and the horses represent the sea, and she represents the sky for which weary travelers look up to for guidance. Her costume is such a creative way to embody District 6's industry of transportation. Michael, on the other hand, wears a costume quite different than Anna. He's dressed as a bird. The crowd roars in applause as he spreads out his wings (arms) and they flap in the wind. Dark blue in color, they remind me of the wings of a blue jay or sparrow. Their shape makes the chariot super aerodynamic, and the speed of the chariot noticeably increases. His body is covered with a suit of feathers, and his barefoot feet are covered with fake talons, as are his hands. He wears red contacts to match those of a hunting bird. His costume clearly relates to transportation because of how fast birds travel. Birds are symbols of speed and travel. District 6 must have had some extremely creative stylists this year. I'll be sure to give them a shout out later.

District 7 is always one of the most interesting districts to see during the chariot rides. I like to see whether the stylists go for the low hanging fruit and dressed the tributes as trees, or if they do something a bit more creative. But, of course, this is the 100th Hunger Games. We've done everything possible to hire the best stylists the Capitol has to offer for this special event, and made sure the arena is more spectacular than any before. The District 7 chariot looks to be made of the very soil you or I would find in a garden. Seemingly made of dirt compacted together, roots, branches, and vines cover the surface of the unit and mangle it to the point of the chariot looking like it emerged from nature itself, completely untouched by humans. The tributes inside look to be dressed as nature gods and goddesses. Amber wears a long, flowing dress covered with grass and rocks that looks to be fashioned completely out of damp moss. The dress wraps all the way up her torso, spraying out at her head with strips of earth flying out in every direction. Her hair is back in a ponytail, with roots and branches looking to be woven into the folds of the hair. Green contacts cover her eyes, and her face is decorated with pink and purple make up, strategically placed as to give a hint of beauty, but without going overboard and making her into a girly mess. Grover, on the other hand, is dressed as a tree. I guess the stylists did go for the low hanging fruit on him. His entire body is wrapped with a material nearly identical to bark, and the floor of the chariot is covered with the brown roots of the tree. His hair must be laced with insanely thick-drying gel, because it sticks out in all directions like the leaves of a tree. Grover is, of course, the kid who we caught stealing food from the peacekeeper's storerooms in District 7. We knew he'd been doing it for months, but we just wanted to wait for the Hunger Games and force him into the thing to show him justice. In fact, I've given the gamemakers personal orders to give him a 12 to put a target on his back and to make sure he's killed in the bloodbath. Let's see how his family fares without their son to help them. The crowd roars with delight at these two kid's costumes. Some even shout their names to show their approval (those who bothered to look up their names in program). Amber looks extremely excited to be here. A grin of joy is plastered across her young, beautiful face, and she waves left and right to the crowd excitedly. Grover tries to act ecstatic to be here. But, I can see in his eyes that he's absolutely terrified.

The District 8 chariot makes an entrance. The chariot seems to be made out of millions of strings of yarn, all meticulously woven together in complex patterns to hold the chariot up. In fact, the surface of the chariot reminds me of a piece of paper that a child scribbled on with a marker or crayon, except that the weave is so tight that I can't see through. The horses pulling the chariot are vanilla colored, with chocolate brown manes. Calico sports a long dress that reminds me of a quilt, hundreds of different patches of every color imaginable woven together. Her hair is sculpted up into a bow that stands up by itself somehow. Her face is decorated with lots of different colors: I make out pink, green, red and purple: all applied with makeup, that appear to clash together in some spots and swirling around each other like someone who dropped soap into colored milk in others. Her arms are decorated by pink, silk sleeves that look very comfortable. Justin wears a plain suit made out of lots of colored patches woven together with a green bow tie: I guess you can't get away with putting rainbow colored dresses on boys, so the stylists usually slap on a colored suit and hope for the best. The crowd screams in applause, a deafening roar rolling through the audience. I notice my wife cover her ears with her hands. I refrain from doing the same. The two children in the chariot could not be more opposite. Calico is jumping up and down and smiling like a madman, seemingly excited out of her skin at being here. Justin, on the other hand, sports an uncomfortable smile as he promptly waves to the audience. When he sees himself on the screen, a wave of fear looks to pass through his body before he regains control and resumes waving.

The next chariot is no less entertaining than those that came before. The District 9 chariot appears to be made of golden wheat, the stems woven together in such a weave as to support the weight of the tributes. It's pulled by two donkeys like the ones used on grain farms for transportation. Kennedy wears a long, golden dress nearly identical to the color of amber waves of fresh grain grown in District 9. She wears a shirt all up her torso seemingly made of thousands of pieces of straw meticulously woven together to cover up every inch of her skin. She wears a very long, wide hat like the ones often used on farms as a guard from the relentless sun. Jackson wears a farmer's costume. He wears blue overalls that cover his torso and he wears well-worn blue jeans. His feet are guarded by thick, black shoes that farmers wear to protect their feet when they work. He wears a straw hat not unlike Kennedy's, and he wears gold contacts to further elaborate on the concept of grain. These two tributes seem to have mixed reactions to being in the Capitol. On one hand, I can see in both of them the exhilaration of arriving in their Capitol after never leaving District 9 for their entire lives. On the other hand, I can see looks of absolute terror hidden behind their attractive young faces.

The District 10 chariot is the next to make an entrance. Made out of millions of pieces of straw and hay woven together in a tight knot that reminds me of that of a straw basket, the chariot is pulled by two cows. Colton wears knee-high cow print boots made of leather. He also sports denim overalls over a spring green shirt like that of a farmer. He also wears a wide farmer's hat made of straw woven in the same method as the chariot itself. He holds a lasso, a long piece of rope with a loop at the end for escorting and herding cattle that people used a long time ago before the Great Disaster. Amanda wears a ruffled cow print skirt that ends after about six inches down her legs, and her legs are concealed by black pantyhose. She wears knee-high black boots like a cowgirl, and she holds a lasso just like Colton's. Her torso is covered by well-worn overalls covering a neon-pink shirt. Her chestnut brown hair is back in two pigtails tumbling down her back that flap behind her as the chariot moves. A bandana wraps around her head and his held in place by a safety pin that's concealed very well. Both kids sport uncomfortable smiles, of course, because they didn't actually voluntarily enter the competition. The mayors of Districts 10 and 11 opted to not wait around for two volunteers, but instead get around the quell by randomly selecting a boy and girl and requiring them to volunteer. The audience roars in applause at the tributes, relieved that we have more creative District 10 stylists this year than some of the previous. I think back to the previous years and remember that the District 10 tributes have been dressed as cows every year for the past six years. District 10's chariot outfits were starting to get old and boring, which is something no aspect of the games must ever be.

District 11's chariot brings on a whole new wave of cheers. Lillian wears a wide dress whose layers look like the petals of a flower. A stunningly beautiful hot-pink color, the petals look as if they were plucked from a gigantic flower and sewn together into a beautiful dress. Her torso is embraced by a ladybug costume, deep red with black spots. Her luscious blond hair tumbles down her back in a ponytail, and an azure blue, sky-colored ribbon wraps around her head and is tied in a bow on top. She wears red lipstick, neatly applied as to stay within the boundaries of her lips. Ink black mascara coats her eyelashes and fake black antennae sprout from her head on both sides and coil around in spirals. Toes coated with polka-dot black on red nail polish like a ladybug pattern, her feet are perfectly sculpted and very cleanly cosmetically altered. Aster wears a farmer's costume. He wears a red and white plaid shirt smeared with dirt in some places to create the effect that it has been well-worn and well-used. Blue, denim overalls stretch up to his rib cage with extended straps stretching over his shoulders. His face is smeared with dirt and charcoal dust in some places to make it look like he's been working hard in the field. He wears knee-high black boots that look to be made out of a reflective waterproof material. The traditional farmer's straw hat covers the top of his head, and he holds a wooden cane seemingly carved out of a branch from a tree. He wears blue jeans, ripped and wildly frayed at the bottom and at the edges, with holes where the knees should be. Both of the tributes' faces display awkward and uncomfortable smiles. I must admit that they're doing a fantastic job pretending to be happy to be here. They give long, wide waves to the audience, constantly turning left and right as if to make sure they cover everybody. The audience cheers wildly in commendation, some people even tossing flowers or standing up and cheering to show their admiration.

The final chariot makes an entrance. The District 12 chariot is as black as the night, pulled by two ink black horses, possibly representing the color of coal or the darkness of the underground. Julian wears a coal miner's outfit. Face smeared with a mixture of dirt, grime and coal dust, he wears a dirty grey denim shirt smeared with grime and torn all over. He wears blue jeans with huge holes busted out at the knees and frayed wildly at the ends. He wears thick black mining shoes and dons a yellow hard hat strapped to his head with a Velcro strap. A blinding light that Julian turns on with a switch is affixed to the front of his hard hat, not unlike the ones on the front of miner's hats to help them see in the darkness of the underground. Danielle's costume seems to focus less on the occupation of being a coal miner and more on the coal itself. She wears a deep black shirt so reflective I can almost see my own reflection on the shiny material. A black pencil skirt embraces her legs, and black pantyhose conceal the parts not covered by her skirt. She wears deep black shoes. Her face is smeared with coal dust and dirty grime just like Julian. She sports a yellow hard had with a guidance light just like Julian. Both tributes don smiles as they wave left and right to the Capitol audience. I can definitely see their exhilaration at being in the Capitol. I guess that when you're from the poorest and least prestigious district in the whole country, anything can be construed as an adventure. The Capitol audience claps loudly and some cheers can be heard, but not nearly as much as the other districts. District 12 almost always has the worst costumes because new, unexperienced stylists are given District 12 for their first year on the job.

I wait until all of the chariots are finished moving down the lengthy track and the Capitol's cheering has died down a bit before hoisting myself out of my chair. I set my cup of tea down on my ottoman before approaching the podium and reaching into my pocket for the notecard containing my speech.

"Ladies and gentleman, I give you the tributes of the 100th annual Hunger Games!" I exclaim. The audience explodes in applause. Cheers and claps and even some screams flood the square for over a minute. I flash a charming smile and patiently wait for the cheering to die down a bit before continuing.

"Now, I'm sure that you're all very excited, as you should be. We have taken every measure humanely possible to ensure that this year's games will be the most thrilling, exciting, exhilarating, and enrapturing yet. Tomorrow morning, the tribute's training will begin. Then, on the eve of June 28th, our very own Marcel Flickerman will be interviewing all of the tributes so that we may get to know them all a little better."

"I would now like to congratulate all of the stylists who created the truly fantastic costumes this evening. They were truly phenomenal! In recognition of your hard work, I will read out your names now. Please stand when I call your name so we can congratulate you on your work tonight."

I read out the names of all two-dozen stylists. After each name, the respective stylist stands up and takes a humble bow as the audience explodes with applause before sitting back down.

"Now, on a more serious note…" my tone becomes more serious and the audience is so silent you could hear a pin drop from the other side of the country. I turn my head and look down at the tributes. Twenty three of them will be dead within the next month. "To all of the tributes here tonight, it is of our upmost appreciation and admiration of your bravery and courage, as well as your sacrifice. I would like a round of applause for these twenty-four courageous young men and women who are here to risk their lives to honor their country." A wave of cheers flows through the audience before I conclude my speech.

"Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor. Let the 100th Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

 **There are the chariot rides! I hope you liked the chariot costumes; I designed them myself. In case you're wondering, I have not chosen the victor. Instead, I will just kill off tributes when the time is right and the last tribute standing will be the victor. Next week's chapter will be Day 1 of the tribute's training. Please review and tell me what you think!**


	17. Training Day 1

**Chapter 17-Training Day 1:**

 **This chapter is just day one of the tribute's training in the training center. Here's how this will work. Training will be divided into three chapters, with eight tributes in each chapter. Each tribute will get a point of view in their respective portion of their chapter. This chapter will be District 2, District 5, District 7, and District 11. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **POV: Emma Walker (District 2 Female)-15 y/o**

I could swear on my life that these knives were designed just for me. They fit perfectly in my grasp, and whenever I throw them it's like I'm expelling a portion of my own being. They've been sitting here in this training center for an entire century, waiting for the perfect tribute to come along and use them.

The knife makes a satisfying scraping noise as I lift it off of the metal table containing a fantastic arrangement of blades. I hold the blade firmly in my grasp before crouching down and releasing my stance as I chuck it at the dummy. A booming sound echoes around the training center for a few moments. I hit right next to the bull's eye, but not quite; there's two whole inches between the blade and the center of the target! My face flushes with rage and I can't see straight. I just embarrassed myself in front of all the other tributes! I whip my head around in raging fury to see the girl from 11 at the camouflage station giggling in my direction. At first, I'm tempted to make work of her, but then I remember how the gamemakers explicitly made clear that if we get into a fight we will not be having a nice day.

"Screw you, 11! You're the first one I'll make work of in the arena!" I scream with rage before turning back around.

"Calm down, Emma!" exclaims Sapphire from the bow and arrow station. "Missing is all part of the fun. What would life be without making fun of other people?" she says playfully.

 _'Oh, I wish'_ I think before resuming working at the knife station. I guess I've kind of exhausted things to do with the standard throwing knife. I guess I'll try out something that I'm really good at, something to show the outlying district tributes what District 2 is made of. I scan over the table containing a massive array of bladed weaponry and decide on a trailing point, you know, the ones with the curved ends that dig into the skin of whatever (or whomever) you chuck them hard enough at. I've gotten a lot of practice with them at Combat Academy back home and I know that I shouldn't be wasting my time on something I've already mastered, but I just need something to impress the other tributes after that embarrassing flop earlier.

I lift the blade tentatively off of the metal counter, and make sure everything is perfect. I form an imaginary list in my head consisting of stance and posture among other things as I check things off of the list to make sure that everything is perfect. Then, I heave my weight backwards and exhale as I hurl the knife at the cloth dummy.

A deafening boom fills the training center. I hit the bull's eye. A grin of triumph spreads across my face when I realize that the gamemaker's attention is focused almost entirely on me. I turn to them for a moment just to make sure they're still paying attention to me before throwing another knife. And another and another and another. Once over a dozen trailing point knives sprout from the dummy like plants springing from the earth, I stroll over to the dummy and rip them out of the stiff cloth.

Hopefully that'll show the other tributes they can't mess around with me the way they've been.

* * *

 **POV: Dorian Bacchmuth (District 5 Male)-18 y/o**

I've never really gotten the opportunity to use a sword at home; it's literally the only weapon that's too expensive for us to buy, so I can't ever practice with them. Sometimes, I practice with long sticks, but even that can't compare to the feeling of holding a weapon.

I watch the hologram screen as it instructs me how to pull the sword out of the sheath. The sword scrapes against the metal as I carefully remove it. I watch as the screen instructs me which stance to be in as well as how to hold the sword. I stand back, hold the sword in the proper position, and slash sideways at the cloth dummy.

I miss. The sword flies out my grasp and clatters across the floor of the training center. Oh, well. These things take time. The Capitol wasn't built in a day. I start over to retrieve the weaponry and try again. I hold the sword even firmer than before and swing left with all my might, but the instant the sword hits the dummy it is forced out of my hand and clatters down to the floor. A wave of frustration and impatience rolls through me. How is it that I've excelled in every weapon I've ever used except this stupid thing? I stew impatiently. I take a few deep breaths to calm down. Alright. Let's try again.

I stand back, holding the sword to my right. I make absolutely certain that I'm firmly grasping the hilt of the sword. I make sure my feet are positioned perfectly on the ground. Then, I use my wrist as a hinge as I swing the sword at the dummy. When I let go of the sword, it stays positioned just where it is, permanently lodged in the dummy. It takes an immense amount of force, mind you, to rip the sword out. If this dummy were a human being, they would be dead for certain now. I imagine a cannon ringing in the distance, and an overwhelming sense of triumph flows through me. Every weapon or survival skill that I master in this training center just means that I'm one step closer to returning to District 5.

* * *

 **POV: Amber Symons (District 7 Female)-13 y/o**

I lift up the heavy throwing axe by the tip of its handle, planting my feet firmly on the ground as to hold the enormous weight suspended in the air.

"You sure that one's not too heavy?" asks Grover, who wields a slightly lighter axe than mine. That wuss.

"Nope! Maximum weight equals maximum force and maximum destruction!" I exclaim, grinning mischievously.

"Seriously, if you miss with that thing you could literally kill somebody!" says Grover, concerned.

"And we wouldn't want to kill anybody?" I say jokingly, rolling my eyes. I turn clockwise a little bit before whirling my body weight back around and loosening by grasp. The axe flies out of my hand and cuts through the air, turning end over end before lodging itself in the heart of the cloth dummy with a boom. If that were a human being, it would most certainly be dead. I remember learning back in District 7 that, in four out of five cases, an axe to the heart will kill within twelve seconds. In ninety-seven out of one hundred cases, the victim will be dead within fifty. I can't help but count down from twelve in my head and imagine the mangled body of a tribute lying on the ground, an axe lodged in their chest.

"It's my turn now, right?" Grover asks.

"Yep" I reply. "Go on."

I watch as Grover wipes the sweat from his brow. He grasps the throwing axe firmly with one hand. Then, he whirls around and around before letting go of the axe. It flies through the air, turning end over end, before… missing the dummy completely. It flies past the cloth dummy with a breadth of over a meter, and clangs against the back wall before plummeting to the floor.

"Say it. I'm hopeless" Grover says with despair.

I have mixed feelings about Grover. On one hand, I think he would be a great ally. He's smart, clever, keen, and so stealthy you wouldn't notice him if he stepped on a stick right in front of your face. On the other hand, I know it's a bad idea to make allies with him. Because of how the Capitol officials caught him stealing food, they're sure to make absolutely certain that he's dead on the first day. Wouldn't want a rebellious victor.

It's all I can do to hope that when his death comes, it's quick and painless. He really is a wonderful boy.

* * *

 **POV: Aster Sabatello (District 11 Male)-14 y/o**

I reach into the steel bucket to my left and pull out an enormous handful of pine needles to use as tinder. I lay down a fine layer of the sharp things in the fire bed before fashioning a contraption with a piece of yarn and two sticks. The instructive hologram shows me that I can make yarn out of animal guts, but it's kind of risky business to bank on that because there might not be animals in the arena. Back in District 11, we always make string by braiding together vines and reinforcing them with hardened tree sap.

I stand the contraption up in the fire bed, and begin rapidly moving the lever (stick) back and forth. After what feels like an eternity, when my arms are flooded with burning pain from doing so much work, a miniscule smolder begins to form at the point where the stick is rubbing back and forth against the dry pine needles. It starts off tiny, but soon enough a cloud of noxious, eye burning smoke is being emitted in a constant stream from the bed.

Now's the moment of truth. I bend my head forward and lightly blow on the tiny ember. I recall that fire needs three things to burn: oxygen, fuel, and heat. It's got plenty of heat from all of that friction. The pine needles provide fuel. Right now, I'm giving it lots of air by blowing on it. One pine needle near the smolder begins to turn black and crumple away, a sure sign that the fire is starting. Soon enough, a tiny yellow flame can be seen and a cracking sound fills my ears as one pine needle catches fire.

 _Yes!_ I think. _Finally!_ I nurture the flame by covering it up with more pine needles for tinder, and, before I know it, I'm adding crumpled up leaves and arranging logs in a teepee. It's not five minutes before a huge, roaring fire dances before my very eyes.

"Hey, great job!" a voice behind me compliments. I turn around to see that it's Lillian, who's as the camouflage station.

"Thank you!" I say, accepting her compliment. "Can I see what you've got going over there?"

Lillian sets down her brush and shows me her arm. The entire thing looks to be a log of wood. It looks so natural! With grooves all over and holes like those dug by a parasitic worm, I wouldn't think twice if I saw that in the woods. I wish our stylists would have done something like that for our chariot costumes.

"That looks amazing!" I compliment.

"Thanks!" she says, returning to her work.

The hologram tells me how to extinguish my fire. I walk over to the makeshift 'beach' (a five foot square area filled with damp sand) and heave a handful of it over to the fire. The instant I plop down the blob of sand onto the monstrous flame, the fire makes a threatening hiss before being extinguished, with only a miniscule trail of smoke there to commemorate the defeat.

I clear out the sand, meticulously making sure that the fire bed is clear of all traces of the pesky stuff before lighting it again, and again, and again. The next time, I learn how to use lighter fluid to get the fire going. The third time, I learn which plants are flammable, and which are unfazed by fire. The fourth and final time, I learn possible the most important thing: how to prevent other tributes from seeing the fire. I learn that it can easily be done by draping a piece of sturdy, damp cloth over the fire to absorb the smoke and keep it from flying into the air.

I shoot a quick glance up to the gamemakers before I notice that they're all looking at me. Awkward tension hangs in the air as I quickly pack up the station and hurry along to the next, leaving the fire station behind for some other tribute to use.

* * *

 **POV: Colton Chancler (District 2 Male)-16 y/o**

I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, heavily breathing in and out. My heart is beating so fast that I feel like it could burst out of my chest at any moment. Us careers need to take breaks every hour or so just because we train so hard. There's twelve benches situated around the training center, and each one is for a certain district's tributes whenever they need a break. There are technically three different benches for each of the three career districts, but the District 1 bench is large enough to fit all six of us, so we just occupy the whole thing and leave the others vacant.

"So, guys, what're you're thoughts on the tributes from the outlying districts so far?" I ask the other careers, stopping after every second word to take a deep breath.

Emma is the first to reply. "I think they're confident. Especially the boy from 5 and the girl from 7. They actually look pretty strong. We'd better rat them out quickly in the arena, or else they could end up becoming a real threat. Not that we couldn't take them down without them lifting a finger, but if we want to get lots of sponsors, we'll need to rack up as many kills as possible."

"Yeah" says Sapphire. "I guess our first targets should be the weaker ones. I guess the ones from the outlying districts would be ideal, but if none of them are readily available than we'll have to go with the secondary districts. Let's not bother with that stupid boy from seven. The gamemakers are sure to kill him off on Day 1. The boy from 12, too, because of his rebellious behavior during the reaping. Don't waste your time on the ones the gamemakers will just kill anyways."

"So, let's try to kind of form a 'kill list'" says Nathan, grinning. "It'll be like our guideline for which tributes to kill early on. I guess we'll start it off with that hag of a girl from 5. She'll be a really easy kill because she's young, weak, and will probably run to the cornucopia. Then, we can add on the stupid, conceited girl from 8. Then we'll tack on the tributes from Districts 10 and 11. See, the other tributes volunteered for a reason and have motivation to win. The District 10 and 11 tributes, on the other hand, didn't volunteer by choice. So, they'll be easy targets."

"And then we'll kill of the tributes from 3" says Abalone. "There's not much potential in District 3 tributes. In fact, there rarely ever is. They've had exactly six victors in an entire century. Unlike us, fishing and mining for jewels and mining stone, they just sit in factories all day and make computers and phones. They'll be super easy targets."

"It's also a good idea to take out the boy from 5 early" I add. "He's strong and attractive, which is the perfect formula for getting loads of sponsors. He'll be stealing all of our sponsors left and right."

"By that logic, of course" adds Abalone "You have to consider the girl from 7. She also seems strong. I think attractive is a bit of a stretch, but she's edgy and clever, and we all know that the stupid, witless Capitolites go crazy for that stuff."

We all get up and return to training when I point out to the others that the gamemakers are starting to shoot us dirty looks, probably because we've been breaking for too long. Wouldn't want to look weak to the Capitol audience. Weak is something the careers must never be.

* * *

 **POV: Ambrosia Clemens (District 5 Female)-13 y/o**

The machine in front of me makes a churning sound for a brief time before expelling a large jar. Inside of it is the dirtiest water I've ever seen in my life, and, being an orphan, that's saying a lot. More mud than water, the vile stuff is so yellow and cloudy that I can't even see to the other side.

I read the screen of the hologram that instructs me what to do. _'To purify the water and make it safe to drink, there are several steps you must follow in order. Firstly, filter out any large chunks of mud, grime, and waste by covering the top of the jar with a piece of thin cloth. Place a bucket on the table, and turn the jar upside-down above the bucket. The clean water will flow through the cloth, whilst the mud will be left behind because it will not be able to pass through the cloth'_

I obediently follow the hologram's instructions. I pull out a bucket from under the small, metal table and cover the top of the jar with a very thin cloth, securing it in place with a rubber band the way we secure jam in jars back in District 5. I turn the jar upside down above the bucket, and voila! Chrystal clear water flows into the bucket. After every last drop is out of the jar, I turn it back around and peel off the cloth lid, which is covered with dirt and grime and who knows what else, and set it to the side, looking to the screen for further instructions.

 _'Although the water may look perfectly clear and safe, it's still teeming with microorganisms that will harm you. Add in six drops of iodine, the liquid in the small pink jar to your right. Then, wait for ten minutes for the iodine to do its job and kill the nasties in the water!'_ the screen reads.

I do what the instructions tell me, tanking infinite care to make sure that exactly six drops of water make it into the bucket of water. The ten minute wait feels like forever, but it eventually comes time that the Iodine's job is done.

 _'The water is now safe to drink'_ reads the screen. A menu pops up with two buttons: a close button and a 'replay instructions' button. Before I press anything, I lift the bucket to my mouth and gulp down the lukewarm liquid. I will admit that it's not exactly violets and primroses in terms of how well it tastes, but it's better than the dirty, moldy, disease-ridden goop you'd find in a pond or river.

I figure that the best plan for me in the games is to hide in the wild for as long as possible and only kill when I absolutely have to. But, since it's a quarter quell, there's sure to be dastardly twists aplenty to make sure the games are as entertaining (bloody and deadly) as possible.

But I have to get home to District 5. To Atom. Avenge my parents for literally abandoning us to move to the Capitol. I will do anything to live long enough to show life that it can't keep pushing me around how it's been.

* * *

 **POV: Grover Huttchings (District 7 Male)-16 y/o**

I slash the sword at the dilapidated dummy with all my might, swinging as hard as I can and letting out a groan as I heave my body to the left. The curved sword cuts through the air before colliding with the beaten-up dummy and lodging itself in the stiff fabric.

"I think it's dead" I mumble to myself, grinning with triumph. This is certainly a first: something I'm actually good at. With immense force, I rip the crescent sword out of the dummy and try again, getting into the proper stand and swinging the curved blade into the dummy's neck. With one clean swoop, the head of the dummy is knocked off and tumbles onto the floor before rolling away.

Confidence restored, I start over to the next dummy in the line to experiment with a different type of blade. I choose from the very threatening array of blades a dagger like the kind we use back in District 7 to hunt animals. I lift the dagger off of the table and pull off the black velvet sheath. I hold the dagger firmly in my right hand before stabbing the dummy in the heart with all of my might, penetrating the cloth. The immense force of the attack sends the dummy flying off its stand and falling to the ground with a crash.

The gamemakers whip their heads toward me in alarm. When they see the dagger, squarely implanted in the dummy's chest, their eyes widen in disbelief. I pretend not to notice that they're staring at me as I carefully replace the dummy and gingerly set it back up. The next dagger lands perfectly in the center of the dummy as well.

One gamemaker turns his head towards me and slowly shakes his head back and forth. His message could not be clearer, and when I realize what he's trying to convey, my stomach contracts in terror and I clap my hand over my mouth to prevent a scream from tearing itself from my throat.

I'm going to die. They're going to make absolutely sure of that.

* * *

 **POV: Lillian Forseberg (District 11 Female)-13 y/o**

I must admit that I take great pleasure in the camouflage station. I guess that smearing paint and meticulously inking it on in certain patterns just makes my skin tingle in satisfaction, seeing as we rarely have time for aesthetics back in District 11.

I dip the end of my brush into the jar of black paint, and smear some onto the palette that sits atop the spotless white counter. I add in a little bit of silver and a little bit of red, and before I know it I'm mixing all of the colors together vigorously with my brush, and they're all blending together in a rather calming and beautiful way. I coat my brush with the mud-brown mixture and slap it up and down my arm. I smooth it out so that there's an even coat of the base color on my arm.

I sully the water of the rinsing cup to drain my brush of the old color. I dip the very end of the brush into the jar of silver paint, and begin draping the color up and down my arm in very thin strokes to represent the creases, bumps, and grooves of the surface of a tree. I dot on some black paint to represent holes eaten by a parasite.

I figure that my best bet to survive as long as possible into the games is to hide in the wild. But, since it's a quarter quell, that may be easier said than done, since the gamemakers will want as bloody of a show as possible.

After about twenty minutes of smearing and mixing and coating, my arm looks exactly like the trunk of a tree.

I'm startled out of my engrossment by a crackling sound right in front of me. I jerk my head up in alarm to see that the sound came from a roaring fire. I can feel the warmth on my bare legs and on my face.

"Hey, great job over there!" I compliment to the fire's creator.

The creator turns his head around, and I realize that it's Aster, my district partner.

"Thanks" he says, his confidence seemingly restored. "What've you got over there?

I hold up my arm for him to see. "That looks amazing!" he says with wonder.

"Thank you" I say before setting it back down and returning to my work.

* * *

Aster thumps down in the seat beside me.

"Um… I was just wondering if, you know, you wanted to be allies" he asks nervously.

"Hmmm…" I murmur, weighing the options carefully. I mean, he is a good fire starter, and I watched him earlier as he identified the edible plants with ninety-six percent accuracy. But, then again, being in an alliance means that you have to take care of yourself and someone else. I don't know what the arena holds in store. None of us do. But I realize that our talents put together will make the perfect team, so the words tumble from my mouth.

"Sure!" I exclaim, maybe a little too loud. "Come on, I'll show you how to do camouflage, and you'll show me how to start a fire. We'll make the perfect team."

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed! Next chapter will be Day 2 of training, which will cover District 1, District 6, District 9, and District 12. Please review and tell me what you think!**

* * *

 **Published 8/6/17**


	18. Training Day 2

**Chapter 18-Training Day 2:**

 **This chapter is Day 2 of the tribute's training, and will cover District 1, District 6, District 9, and District 12. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **POV: Abalone Toteston (District 1 Male)-17 y/o**

I reach my arm over my shoulder and pull an arrow out of the black leather sheath. My hand grasps the brittle end of the shaft as I nock it in my bow. Pulling back the arrow and holding my breath, I count down from three. Three, two, one, go!

I loosen my grasp on the arrow and it soon escapes the contraption, whistling though the air. A boom rolls through the training center as the end of the arrow lodges itself in the cloth dummy's neck. A grin of triumph crosses my face as I clear the way for Sapphire to have a go.

"Alright, everything's clear" I huff impatiently; longing for another turn. Sapphire nocks a bow in her arrow and releases it. The shaft hurtles through the air before plunging into the dummy's torso with the same menacing boom as mine.

I start back over to the dummy, aiming for an even faster and even more firm shot than the last. I search through the collection of bows and find the stiffest one I can find before nocking my arrow. It takes immense force to pull back the arrow, and by the time I do my arms are burning from the strain before I release. The arrow flies interpretably fast from my bow before hitting the dummy with a deafening boom and lodging itself in the cloth.

I walk forth to investigate the site of the collision to find the arrow sticking out the other side of the dummy. If this were a human being, especially a teenager like the tributes are, they would most certainly be dead.

Sapphire and I continue this for almost an hour in an attempt to wow the other tributes. Since we're careers and don't actually need three days of training (seeing as we've been training for just over a decade) our main incentive during training is just to impress the other tributes and further emphasize us as a threat. Not to mention that we're probably being broadcasted to every screen in Panem, and that we need to define ourselves as strong and confident. The Capitolites go crazy for that stuff.

* * *

 **POV: Anna Kerkelie (District 6 Female)-17 y/o**

 _'Come on'_ I coax myself on as I swing my arm towards the next bar, which is tantalizingly close to the end of the entire course. _'Just a little further and then there's a platform to rest on.'_

I let out a groan of pain as I heave my body weight forward and grasp the next bar in the long line. Arms burning with agony as if they're on fire, my bones feel like melting away and my limbs feel like lead. After over two laps around the gymnasium on the monkey bar course, I need a break.

As soon as my left foot so much as touches the resting platform, my entire body collapses like a rag doll as my face smacks onto the base of the platform.

Here I lay, on the cold, bare metal, for what feels like an eternity. The relief I feel from the cool metal and the lack of the constant strain of the bar course in overwhelming, and soon enough sleep takes me and I doze off.

A high pitched sound jolts me awake. I frantically look around to find the source and conclude that it's just the clock, which is ringing eleven times to signal that it's eleven o'clock in the morning. It's time to return to training now. I've been resting for far too long.

As soon as I stand up, my legs turn to jelly and I feel like collapsing back down again. But, fortunately, there's a bar near me that I can grab for assistance to keep me from falling down again. I have no idea how long I stand there for. I glance at the clock after what feels like an eternity to find that only five minutes has passed since I woke. I guess that, if time flies when you're having fun, time slows down when you feel as if any minute you could die a horribly painful death in front of the entirety of Panem.

I don't know where I get the motivation to go around the bar course one more time. Maybe it's the fact that the entirety of Panem is watching. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm starting to look weak and frail, the perfect recipe for a live target. Anyways, I grab the next bar in the course and kick my feet off of the platform. Despite the agonizing pain and the constant threat of tumbling to the far-away floor, I make it around the entire gym one more time.

Hopefully that'll have impressed the sponsors. Sometimes, the most powerful thing is not being the best with a sword or a knife, or being the biggest and strongest. Sometimes, it's being the most persistent. Persistence can get anybody anywhere. In my case, that 'where' is back to District 6.

* * *

 **POV: Jackson Harte (District 9 Male)-16 y/o**

The mundane task of wrapping rope around and around the sticks to bind them together gets extremely boring after a very short time. So, I set my hands on autopilot as I observe the other tributes. The careers are, of course, trying to wow everybody with the skills they've worked so hard to master. It really is unfair, that they can train before the games begin. If a tribute from an outlying district was caught having prior training, they would most likely be severely punished (slaughtered in the most gruesome way imaginable). The secondary district tributes seem to be minding their own business, and the same is true for the outlying district tributes.

Once the two sticks are bound together very firmly by the rope, I reach for a sharp rock and cut the rope to my desired length. After I tie it into a bow, I tie another stick into the mix, and very soon I have at least a dozen sticks tied together at one point and spread out at the bottom in a teepee shape.

The hologram tells me that I should cover the tent with moss and leaves as to keep in my body heat and protect me from rain or snow. Of course, there aren't any trees or grasses in the gymnasium, but there's a huge compartment filled with fake moss that's so soft it might even be real. I carry a big load of it back over to my makeshift shelter area and begin the mundane task of slapping the layers onto the tent, and wrapping rope around and around to secure them in place.

I step back and admire my creation. Although it's not exactly a five star hotel, it would provide much needed shelter from wind, rain, and snow. I crouch down on my hands and knees and enter the shelter. I close the flap of a door behind me and realize that it's extremely warm inside. With the addition of a hot water bottle and a blanket or sleeping bag, this might even be comfortable. The only problem, of course, is that there'll be a few dozen other children looking to murder me—just a typical day in the Hunger Games.

The main pro about the shelter is that it blends into the environment very well. In a forest or other wooded area, the shelter would almost be invisible. Even if you saw it, you would just mistake it for a pile of moss and leaves.

Of course, it's a risky business learning only one kind of shelter, since there might be no sticks in the arena. Over the next few hours, I teach myself how to make dozens of different types: a jungle shelter, taiga, desert, plain, and many, many more.

I would like to think that I'm set for surviving for a few weeks in the wilderness.

* * *

 **POV: Danielle Koltser (District 12 Female)-13 yo**

I read the hologram as it instructs me how to identify which plants are edible and which plants are poisonous.

 _'There are eight main rules for identifying if a plant is edible. Steer clear of any plant that has discolored sap, spines or thorns, bulbs, a bitter or soapy taste, parsley-like foliage, almond scent, pink or black spurs, and/or three leaf growth pattern'_

I reach into the ornate velvet box and remove a bundle of ten plants: a golden yellow flower with a dark interior, a long purple tube flower, a short brown fern, a cactus with leaves in a spiral pattern, a sunflower, a tomato, a blueberry, a long stalk covered with fine hairs, a pod of milkweed oozing with sap, and a stalk bursting with luscious green leaves.

In front of me are two boxes. One is clearly labeled 'edible plants' and the other is labeled 'poisonous plants'. I investigate each plant before throwing it into the appropriate box.

I start off by investigating the golden flower with the dark, almost bloodlike orange interior. I brush over the simple criteria first. No discolored sap, bulbs, spines, almond scent, spurs, or three leaf growth pattern. Good. But, investigating the petals leads me to discover that this plant is not as it seems. The leaves form three spirals, the magic number that the instructions told me to avoid. I toss the plant into the 'poisonous plants' box.

The long, purple tube flower is quite peculiar. Consisting of about ten petals of a whimsical violet tint, it looks very appealing. However, a quick check leads me to discover that it's actually Monkshood, a very poisonous plant sometimes called Wolfbane that we're always instructed to avoid back in District 12.

The short, brown fern passes all of the criteria. I take a bite and am treated to a rather tart, almost salty taste. I toss it into the 'edible plants' box. Over the course of the next few minutes, I sort all ten plants. The 'edible plants' box contains the fern, cactus, sunflower, tomato, blueberry, and the leaf stalk. All of the others end up in the 'poisonous plants' box.

I slide the two boxes over the spotless tabletop and gently set them in the grading machine. After a few moments of whirring and churning sounds from the machine, the message flashes on screen that I got 100 percent.

A grin crosses my face. I've found something that I'm good at, finally. Over the next hour, I sort dozens of more arrangements of plants until I know everything there is to know about identifying edible ones. Finally, I'm forced from the station when another tribute comes along and wants to use the station.

For the first time in a very long time, a small glimmer of hope begins shining inside of me. Maybe I could win. Help my family afford the medicine I need so badly. But, that's too far in the future to look into. I like to think that looking into the future means that you're just wasting your present. I've adopted that attitude since I probably won't live past age 25 because of my illness. Either way, I have hope. As long as I have hope, I will never despair.

* * *

 **POV: Sapphire Peretz (District 1 Female)-18 y/o**

"Oh, I can do way better than that, just you watch" I huff, nocking an arrow in my bow. I pull back the bowstring before releasing the tension and sending the arrow whistling through the air. A deafening boom roars in my ears. I hit the dummy straight in the neck.

"Come on, that's not even lodged in that far—only, like, two inches! I can do way better" January pushes me out of the way. She nocks an arrow and pulls back the bowstring before releasing it. It misses the dummy completely, and I can't help but giggle when it does.

January's face flushes red with rage. "If you wouldn't have been distracting me" she roars "I would have been more accurate!"

"How was I distracting you?" I ask. I'm breaking into a full on laughing fit, now. I realize that I'm literally giggling. I can't remember the last time I giggled.

"Oh, never mind!" January scowls, clearing her throat and turning back. "I can do way better. Just you watch."

Her next arrow hits the dummy right in the heart. A grin of triumph crosses her face as she sets down her bow, crosses her arms, and turns towards me.

"Well, shoot (No pun intended). I guess you got me, there. But watch this."

I dart over to a table in the corner and grab an array of throwing knives. Even though we're technically not allowed to take things from other stations, there's really nobody to stop us, and besides, tributes do it all the time without getting caught.

I grab one knife in my right hand, crouch down. And release the knives with such force that, the instant they make contact with the dummy, the dummy is split in half! The top half of the thing breaks off and tumbles to the floor, rolling away. At this, the gamemakers whip their heads towards me in alarm. I flash them a charming smile before nocking an arrow in my bow and releasing it. It hits the lower portion of the dummy and sends the whole thing tumbling backward off of the spotless white table.

I think I've done an adequate job of establishing myself as a threat to the others.

* * *

 **POV: Michael Leftwich (District 6 Male)-14 y/o**

 _Come...on…just…a…little…further…_ I coax myself on, reaching for the next rock on the climbing wall. The muscles in my arms are burning so badly that they feel like they are on fire, and my legs feel like melting away and tumbling to the now far-away floor.

I let out a groan of agony as I heave my body weight upwards towards the next rock. Grasping it very firmly, I lift one foot up, then the other; and gently set them both down on two rocks slightly higher up.

My hands are so warm and sweaty that I can barely grip anymore. But, I find the motivation to keep going. I reach for the next rock, almost screaming in excruciating pain as I do. Finishing the rock wall and getting to the top is one of the most physically demanding things I have ever done in my life, but it feels immensely satisfying when I get to the top and toss my body weight onto the platform, feeling as if the weight of an entire house has been lifted off of my back.

I give myself a few minutes of break time from the constant threat of death from exhaustion, and then return to training. I stroll over to the edge of the platform and peer down at the very far-away floor. My heart drops into my stomach when I realize how far it really is.

With a start, I notice that at least half of the gamemakers are looking at me. I guess it's just as entertaining for them to watch a fourteen-year-old jump off of a thirty-foot tall wall onto a cushion as it is for me.

I wipe the pool of sweat from my brow and clear my throat. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and throw myself off of the platform. The five-second fall is extremely exhilarating. The air forms a deafening whistle in my ears, and my arms and legs naturally fly into the air as my torso sags down. I instinctively struggle with my legs to grasp hold of anything, but by the time I do, my body collides with the cushion and silence consumes the world.

* * *

 **POV: Kennedy Seibold (District 9 Female)-17 y/o**

In the Hunger Games, you have to be prepared for anything. Literally anything could be thrown your way, and if you're not prepared for what's to come, tough luck to you being the lone survivor. There are many things I need to learn in order to have a hope of survival.

One such thing is tree climbing. Back in District 9, since the entire landscape is just grain as far as the eye can see, I've rarely seen a tree with my own eyes. The only time I see them is when we go on walks around the block that our house is on. There's a man there who grows fruit trees and sells them to anyone willing to shell out enough cash. I've never even touched a tree, let along learned to climb one.

I reach out my hands and firmly grasp the tree. Good so far. I take a deep breath in, make sure that everything is ready, then kick my feet off of the ground and plant them firmly on the bark of the fake tree. Desperately reaching for a limb to grab hold of, my fingers curl around a branch. I lift my knees up to my chest, ready to set my feet down on a higher branch, when…my fumbling fingers loose hold of the branch and I tumble to the floor. My blood turns to ice as my entire body clenches with panic. Fortunately, the floor is cushioned so it doesn't hurt at all when my back collides with the floor.

Discouraged, I kick myself up onto my feet, wiping the sweat from my brow and kicking the dirt and grime from my limbs.

I stroll over to the tree once more, trying to calculatingly examine every aspect of the tree. After a few moments of searching, I settle on a thick branch to my left side. I grasp hold of the tree and try again, lifting my feet up. As soon as I reach to set them on the higher branch… I fall again. It's less terrifying this time since I know what to expect, but it's still discouraging nonetheless.

It takes seemingly forever before I finally get to the top of the tree. I lose count of my number of failed attempts at fifty-one or fifty-two. But, finally, I kick my feet up to the very top branch and stand up. Encouraged and immensely satisfied by my accomplishment, I scan over the other tributes. It seems like most of the tributes are at the survival stations: fire starting, shelter building and the like. The careers are, of course, attempting to wow everybody at the combat stations—no surprises there.

In my head, I can't help but mumble _'Let the 100_ _th_ _Hunger Games begin'._

* * *

 **POV: Julian Ackerly (District 12 Male)**

The wind is knocked out of my chest and my torso throbs with pain as I tumble backwards off of the platform. As soon as I hit the ground, I throw myself back up and jump to the lowermost platform to try again. The daunting obstacle course starts off as easy as pie, and gradually gets more difficult.

The first portion of the gauntlet is the easiest; jumping between platforms. For the first few steps, the jump is just a few feet. But, those two feet between steps gradually morph into three, then four, then five. Soon enough, I'm leaping between stops and awkwardly hurdling myself between the platforms. One stage down, four to go.

Stage two is the same thing, but with trainers trying to bludgeon you with maces. The instant I step into stage two, one trainer runs towards me, waving around his mace like crazy. He swings the tool, and I dodge down below it before kicking him in the shin and sending him tumbling down to the (cushioned) floor. It takes me a significant amount of time to get through stage two, mostly because I have to keep backtracking to avoid being smacked by the trainers, but it's easy enough.

Stage three is serious parkour. It begins with a monkey bar course, then a rope course, then a zip line with a rock wall at the end. I finish the monkey bar course very quickly. The rope course is slightly harder because of how much the friction burns my hands, and once I'm finished, my hands are chapped and caked with blood in some spots. The zipline is very easy. However, the rock wall is a bit of a challenge. I get it eventually, though.

Stage four is just running. I dart as fast as I can down the long hallway, the sound of my shoes smacking against the floor echoing around the hard, cement walls like thunder. It's significantly cold in the hallway, and I shiver multiple times.

Stage five is all of the previous stations combined: it alternates between a rope course and platform jumping, with trainers everywhere prepared to bludgeon me in the chest. I leap between the steps, dodging the occasional trainer and occasionally kicking one off of the thing entirely. As soon as my feet cross the finish line, the timer makes a buzzing sound and displays my time. On the screen in front of me flashes the numbers _3:18._ Not too shabby.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! Next chapter will be the tribute's third and final day of training. It will cover District 3, District 4, District 8, and District 10. After that, there'll be a surprise chapter with a secret theme that I won't reveal yet. After that will be the private sessions and then the training scores. Then will be the interviews and finally the games themselves. Please review*and tell me what you think!**

* * *

 **Published 8/13/2017**


	19. Training Day 3

**Chapter 19-Training Day 3:**

 **This chapter is the third and final day of the tribute's training. It will cover District 3, District 4, District 8, and District 10. The very next day after this chapter goes up, I'll post a surprise chapter with a secret theme that I won't reveal yet. I have a new story on my profile now. It's a one shot, so no need to follow it, but I would much appreciate it if you could consider dropping a quick review and telling me what you think. Without any further ado, let Day 3 of training commence!**

 **POV: January Frable (District 4 Female)-12 y/o**

I refrain from clapping my hands over my ears as a deafening boom rolls through the training center. I stroll over to the cloth dummy to investigate the impact site.

The throwing knife impaled the dummy in the throat, right under the neck. It's lodged into the stiff material at least two inches, and takes an immense amount of force to pull out. Once it is out, a huge, gaping hole lies in the dummy as a token of the defeat.

I decide to increase my distance from the target at least five feet every time that I get a hit. The second time, the throwing knife whistles through the air before impaling the dummy's waist. I retrieve the blade and move slightly further back. I hit the dummy exactly for the next six shots. I'm practically on the other side of the gymnasium, now. I chuck the knife with all of the force I can muster up, lunging my body forward.

The knife flips end over end in the air—something that isn't supposed to happen—and bounces off of the dummy the instant it strikes its temple. The blade falls and clatters on the floor.

I start forward to retrieve the weapon. Since I missed that one, I have to restart. Compared to throwing from the other side of the gym, throwing from ten feet away feels like peanuts. I'm back where I was the previous time within five minutes.

This time, I'm absolutely determined to hit the dummy. Adrenaline coursing through my body faster than ever before, my heartrate and breathing rate skyrocket. I heave my entire body weight back, building up as much potential energy as possible. Finally, I lunge my body forward and let go of the blade. It darts through the air extremely fast.

I grin in triumph when it impales the dummy directly in the heart.

 **POV: Cirkt Janik (District 3 Male)-12 y/o**

"May I challenge you to a duel?" I ask Amanda jokingly in the stupid Capitol accent. Anything sounds funny in the Capitol accent.

"Certainly" Amanda replies, playfully mimicking my tone. A slight giggle tumbles from my lips as I hurry over to the large plastic storage bin in the corner of the room and remove two wooden swords before hurrying them back over to the dueling station and handing one to Amanda, keeping one for myself.

Both of us tentatively proceed to our spots, feet planted firmly on the ground. Even though we're encouraged to practice combat with each other, they emphasize that we'll be in huge trouble if we—whether deliberately or not—injure another tribute before the games begin.

"3…2…1…Go!" I count down out loud. As soon as I say go, I lunge forward. Amanda does the same, and begins swiping her sword through the air at my wrist. I hastily block the blow with my sword, and a clanging sound fills my ears when the swords collide in midair. I use the leverage of my wrist to force her sword back before scraping them apart and stepping back a little.

I lean clockwise to get some extra momentum in my swing, and clutch the hilt with greater force than before. As I swing my body to the left, Amanda expels her arm from her body and counters my attack, causing the blades to smash in midair with a deafening clang.

We both step backwards. I notice that Amanda's left arm is extended at an angle that enables me to lunge at her without being in danger of being stabbed or other. I lunge my body forward. Amanda tries to counter my attack, but it's useless. I swipe my arm around her neck and soon enough the cold blade rests on the back of her neck, behind the veil of her hair.

"I win" I announce, encouraged. I pull my sword away. Back in District 3, I had some experience with swords when my father and I would go into the woods behind our house and 'duel' with sticks. I have no idea where Amanda, a District 10 girl, would learn how to fight with a sword. Your guess is as good as mine.

"How well did I do?" asks Amanda. "It's not every day that you see two twelve-year-olds dueling with wooden swords."

"You did great" I say, complimenting her.

"So did you" she replies with the same tone.

"Again?" I ask.

"Sure" she replies. We get back into our positions to begin another round.

 **POV: Justin Kirsten (District 8 Male)-18 y/o:**

 _Thwack_

The spear bounces off of the dilapidated dummy like a toy ball bouncing off of a wall. The spear falls to the ground and clatters to the floor, rattling back and forth for a few moments before lying completely still. Oh, well. These things take practice.

I retrieve the spear and try again. The spear is masterfully crafted. At a length of about three feet, a menacingly sharp stone is bound to the end. The back of the spear is decorated by a feather, to help guide the arrow as I glides through the air.

I close one eye and turn my body slightly to the side, positioning the spear between my two hands. Air rushes into my throat as I take a deep breath. I build up tension, make sure that everything is right, and release the spear. The weapon hurdles through the air, travelling much straighter than the last one—not straight enough, unfortunately. It flies past the dummy and smashes into the back wall before clattering to the floor.

A pulse of frustration and impatience rolls through me like a wave in a lake as I clench my fists. So what. These things take time. I take a few deep breaths before retrieving the spear and having another go. This one misses to, even more pathetically than the two before. The spear literally flips end over end as it flies through the air. It tumbles to the floor before even reaching the dummy.

The fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth attempts are no more successful than the ones before. In fact, I seem to be getting progressively worse with each shot.

I hear a strange sound behind me. It starts out as a silent hum, and then grows into a huffing sound. I set down my spear and turn around to investigate the source. My heart drops into my stomach when I see the entire career pack no more than ten feet behind me. Complete with Colton, January, Abalone, Nathan, Sapphire, and Emma, they're laughing and shaking their heads.

"It looks like you're not so successful over there, eight" says Colton, his lips in a smirk. At this, the careers break and begin laughing hysterically. Not a shadow of a doubt that I'm the laughingstock of Panem at this moment.

A hot wave of sizzling fury crashes through my body like a flood of unleashed hot lava. Slowly, I turn around, trying to conceal my inner fury. I pick up the spear, making sure that everything is perfect. Nothing in the world exists except for me, my spear, and the dummy. I hold my breath, determined to show the careers what I'm made of. I pull back my body weight, release the spear, and—miss the dummy completely. The spear whistles through the air, but bounces off of the dummy the instant it makes contact with it. The careers burst into laughter even louder than before.

Without even processing what I'm doing, I drop everything I'm doing and run out of the gymnasium. A huge, wet tear tumbles from my eyes as I dart to the elevator. I cry all of the way up to floor eight. As soon as I'm in my room, I dart over to my bead and hide myself under the blankets. For what feels like an eternity, I lie there with no motivation to do so much as move, and let out a deep sob.

What was I thinking? I should never have volunteered. I think back to Noah, my dearest friend, lying on the brink of death. He could be dead right now! I don't have a hope of winning. If—no—when I die, I don't know what my father will do. Both of his children dead in one month. With nobody to love or take care of, he'll go mad.

I crumble myself up into the tightest ball I can make, and cry harder than I ever have in my life. I have to at least try to win. For my family. I couldn't just accept my imminent death. Pity doesn't earn you in this world. Strength does. If I can go down with dignity, that's all that matters.

 **POV: Amanda Boix (District 10 Female)-12 y/o**

Of the many attributes that make a strong tribute, one of the most often overlooked is intelligence. I think that people often get lost in trying to be the strongest and the most skilled, and brush over being the most intelligent because they think it's not important. I think otherwise.

 _Chamber._

It's such an ugly word. It's actual a quite fitting term for what it represents: anything can be a room, but to be a chamber, it has to be dark, cold, damp, and ridden with creepy crawlies.

The intelligence chamber is one of the least used stations in the entire training center. The door makes a painfully squeaky noise as I coax it open with both hands. The light inside turns on automatically, flickering a few times and emanating a low-pitched hum.

In front of me stands a pedestal with words engraved into it: the instructions for the station. I read the bold letters carefully.

 _Rules: You are at the front of a long chain of rooms. Each room has a locked door leading to the next. The key to the next room is hidden in each room, and you must find it by solving the puzzle in that room. Begin by opening the door in front of you._

I apprehensively stroll over to the door and clutch the handle before tugging open the door. The next room is very beautiful. Walls and ceiling a whimsical periwinkle, a fat leather couch sits in the corner. An ornate glass table and yellow velvet chairs decorate the center of the room, and a magnificent chandelier masquerades down from the ceiling. I infer that the room is modeled after a Capitol living room.

I take a quick look around for the key when I spot a padlock on one of the walls. The padlock is locking a cage. Inside the cage is a large, fat green key, no doubt the key to the next room. I investigate the lock and find that it is a number lock: ten buttons sport the numbers from 1 to 10. I have to press them in the right order to open the lock. My eyes sweep across the room before landing on a table littered with playing cards. Wait, no—they're not in a random pattern like I thought—there's a line of four cards in the center of the table: a 4, a 9, a 1, and a 7 in that order. That must be a clue! I fumble with the lock and type in the numbers 4, 9, 1, and 7. The lock makes a satisfying click as I tug on it. Once the lock is off, I reach in for the key and start over to the next door. When I insert the key into the door's lock, the key turns as smoothly as butter and I open the door.

The rooms seem to be modeled to be increasingly difficult. The second room is set up as a blacksmith's shop, and a stamp on the wall saying "founded in 2276" tells me which numbers to type to get the key. The second room is set up as a machine shop: the lengths of the four screws on the table in inches tell me what numbers to type, and so on. Once I turn the lock of the final room, I open the door and find a trainer with a stopwatch write down my time on a piece of paper.

"27 minutes and 27.639 seconds to finish all 12 rooms" he announces. Not too shabby.

 **POV: Gyzmo Kressin (District 3 Female)-18 y/o**

I must admit that the knot-tying station is immensely fun. It's just so satisfying to loop two ropes around, then tug on the ends and see them connected in such an intricate pattern designed to be as stable as possible.

I reach into the bucket of rope and pull out a piece. There are ten lessons on ten different types of knots, each knot more challenging to tie than the last. The first lesson is, of course, the square knot. I already know this one from back in District 3, but I do it anyways just for completion's sake. I hold two ropes, one in either hand, and form the right one into a loop. Then, I weave the other rope in and out of the loops in the other rope and rug on the ends. I toss the tied ropes to the side, ready for the next lesson.

The second lesson is the sheet bend knot, one that I also know already. I form the left rope into a bend and insert the right rope underneath it before wrapping the rope around and pulling it back through the loop it formed. The sheet bend is designed to be as stable as possible, so it's the recommended knot to use to secure ourselves down with.

The third lesson brings the first knot that I don't have prior knowledge of: the clove hitch. I watch as the hologram instructs me how to tie it. I form the left rope into a 'U' shape, feed the end of the other rope through the loop, and loop it around itself before going back through. The clove hitch, the hologram reads, is easy, fast, and effective. Use it if you're in a hurry.

Lesson number four teaches me the figure eight knot, one that I already know about. I lay the first rope vertically on the table. I pass the second rope under it so that it forms an 'X' shape. I wrap the second rope twice around the first rope, then tuck the end under one of the loops and tug tight on both ends.

Lessons five thru ten instruct me how to make the two half hitches knot, the taut line hitch knot, the rolling knot, the prusik knot, the timber hitch knot, and the bowline knot. Once all ten knots are completed, I lay them all on the table in front of me. It feels immensely satisfying to have completed a station in such a short time. I reach into the bucket again for more rope and repeat the knots again and again until I've mastered them. It's not (no pun intended) long until I've mastered all ten knots and are ready to move on to another station.

 **POV: Nathan Kaputo (District 4 Male)-18 y/o**

A whistling sound floods my ears as I heave my body to the left. The sickle cuts through the air, its spotless metal surface gleaming from the reflection of the overhead lights. Finally, the sickle makes contact will the fiberglass dummy. I groan as I smash the blade to the left with as much strength as I can muster up. A deafening boom rolls through the gymnasium as the dummy absorbs the impact of the curved sickle. When I let go of the blade, it stays just where it is, jammed about an inch deep into the dummy's torso, hilt suspended in the air.

I clutch the hilt of the blade and tug on it will all of my might. It puts up a fight, but it's only a matter of time before the sword rips out of the dummy, leaving a huge dent in the material to commemorate the defeat.

I clean off the excess little bits and pieces of fiberglass stuck to the blade and then try again, aiming for the dummy's neck this time. I set my eyes on my target: a spot on the side of the dummy's neck, which, if this were a human, would be the quickest path to the vital arteries that carry blood to the brain. Breaking those arteries is the most efficient way to kill somebody.

I hold the sickle firmly with my right hand, and focus on the point that I'm aiming to hit. I make sure that everything is ready, and then heave my body weight to the left. The menacing, curved sickle slices through the air before slashing the dummy in the side of the neck. A wave of confidence rolls through me when I imagine a spout of blood spraying from the wound and the sound of a cannon booming in the distance.

 **POV: Calico Alpert (District 8 Female)-13 y/o**

I count the turns in my head. _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12_ and so on. The two stems wrap around and around each other, clamping together into a sturdy strand. I do the same exact thing twice more, and then tie the three pairs of twisted stems together in a braid. It takes a long time, but after a while I have a piece of usable rope. The rope making station was actually only introduced a few years ago around the time of the 94th Hunger Games, when the gamemakers noticed that none of the tributes knew how to make rope in the arena.

I grab the piece of rope that I've created and carefully stroll over to the testing station: a cold metal bar suspended from the ceiling with a cushion underneath it for when, I'm sure in the majority of cases, the rope isn't strong enough and it snaps. I wrap the rope around the bar and grasp both ends of it. Firmly clutching each end, I kick my feet off of the ground and hoist myself into the air.

Things are looking good so far. I begin to climb the rope, carefully putting one hand in front of the other. There's only a few feet to go, now. Once I get to the very top, I grasp onto the bar and swing back and forth for a second. Filled with confidence that I successfully created a rope strong enough to support my own body weight, I let go of the bar and plummet to the floor before colliding with the cushion and sinking into it. Huh. I think I have a decent chance of winning.

 **POV: Colton Spears (District 10 Male)-14 y/o**

I bend down the end of the weak, young sapling and tie the thin piece of rope to the end in a tight knot, holding it down and storing as much elastic energy as possible. I set it to the side and reach into the bucket for two thick sticks that are obviously fake but might well be real sticks if I were in the arena. Carefully and making sure I cut away from myself, I cut a 'mouth' shape into one of the sticks, and carve the other stick into an 'L' shape.

I make sure that the soil on the ground is sturdy, yet penetrable, and shove the stick with the mouth into the ground. I slam it down with a mallet to make sure that it's extra sturdy before proceeding.

I tie the end of the 'L' shaped stick to the end of the piece of rope hanging from the bent over sapling. Then, I carefully insert the 'arm' of the 'L' shaped stick into the mouth of the other stick. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

I reach into the bucket and pull out a piece of long, black thread. I tie the end of the thread into a loop, and then tie it to the 'L' shaped stick, which is now the only thing stopping the whole contraption from being thrown into the air. Everything is set. I cover up the edges of the snare with dirt and place a few sticks around to make the one sticking out the ground less apparent, and soon enough I get a perfectly formed snare.

I step back to test my snare. I must admit that I take great amusement in watching the robotic raccoon clumsily crawl over the ground. The thing's leg catches on the black thread of the snare, and as soon as the 'raccoon' starts to walk away, the sapling's potential energy is unleashed and the creature is hoisted into the air, suspended by one leg. It's a common misconception that a snare is actually designed to kill the animal it traps, but that is only half true. The snare itself does not kill the animal. Instead, it traps the creature, and it dies of dehydration or hunger in a few hours.

Snare building is something my mother taught me back in District 10. Even though it's technically illegal, we would set them in our backyard on days where we were doing particularly bad in terms of food, and we'd check back in a few hours to see a deer or a skunk or whatever hanging dead. I'm trying it in the Capitol because we never have the right type of sticks back home to actually make a functioning snare.

I start back over to the station and untie the thing. I click the switch labeled 'off'. After a few seconds of a quiet whirring sound, the thing stops all movement and sound. I place it back in its storage container.

I'd like to think that I'm set for surviving a few weeks in the wilderness.

 **There we go! All three days of training are done, and all 24 tributes have had a POV in one chapter or another. As I mentioned before, the very next day after this chapter goes up I'll post a surprise chapter. I know I'm making such a big deal out of the surprise chapter, but trust me, you will not be disappointed. It's going to introduce something that will literally change the course of the entire Hunger Games. Then, next Sunday, I'll post the tribute's private training sessions with the gamemakers. Then will be the training score announcement. Please review and tell me what you think!**

 **Published 8/20/17**


	20. The Three Twists

**Chapter 20-The Three Twists:**

 **Here's the 'surprise chapter' I was talking about last chapter. I know it's very short, but you will not be disappointed, it will introduce three very exciting elements to the games. Enjoy!**

 **POV: Pascal Xerces (Head Trainer)**

"I would like to give my deepest congratulations to the tributes of the 100th Hunger Games. We are in deepest appreciation of your courage, and of your sacrifice. I know you are all very confused as to why I called you over here, but let me give a little exposition and you will soon understand."

I break the seal of the red velvet envelope and pull out the four sheets of paper inside. I read the first one aloud to the tributes.

 _"We already have a myriad of reasons to be excited for this year's Hunger Games. As you all know, we commemorated the fourth quarter quell by requiring that every tribute must be a volunteer. However, this would not be the 100_ _th_ _Hunger Games without several exhilarating twists. So, in addition to the quarter quell twist, I, President Caligula Lock, have decided to introduce three more twists to the games."_

The three other slips of paper are all labeled with the numbers one to three in roman numerals. I unfold the piece of paper labeled with the number one and read it aloud.

 _"For our first twist, at the end of each day in the arena, a map showing the exact location of every remaining tribute will be projected into the sky for all to see."_

I take interest in the tribute's varied reactions to the first twist. The careers, as I expected, smirk as the scan over the other tributes like a farmer looking for the most bountiful kill. The outer district tributes, on the other hand, quiver in fear. The girl from 10 even lets out a hushed yelp, but claps her hand over her mouth hastily. I read the slip of paper labeled with the number 2.

 _"For our second twist, the family members of this year's victor will be exempt from having their names in the reaping bowl for the rest of their lives."_

We introduced this twist because we thought it would make the games extra bloody. Saving your family members from being eligible for the game of death is surely strong motivation for a tribute to kill as often as possible to become the lone victor.

 _"For our third and final twist, every tribute will have two lives in the arena. That is, when a tribute dies, their corpse will be carried into a hovercraft, where a group of doctors will use highly advanced Capitol medicine to jumpstart their body and bring them back to life. Then, they will be entered back into the arena for a second chance at victory. However, this can only be done once. If a tribute dies once more after their first death, their luck has run out."_

This twist is probably the most major so far. The games will not only be twice as long, but there will be twice as much death and twice as much blood, something the Capitol audience raves for.

"Please leave the gymnasium and head to the tribute waiting room for your private sessions" I command. I neatly place the four slips of paper back in the envelope as the tributes file out of the room. "Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor".

* * *

 **What did you think of the twists? Here's a recap of the three twists for quick reference:**

 **1-At the end of each day, a map showing the exact location of every tribute is projected into the sky.**

 **2-The family members of the victor are exempt from the reaping for the rest of their lives.**

 **3-Every tribute has two lives in the arena.**

 **Please review and tell me what you think!**

* * *

 **Published 8/21/17**


	21. Private Sessions

**Chapter 21-Private Sessions:**

 **This chapter is the tribute's private sessions with the gamemakers. All 24 tributes will have a point of view in this chapter, and it's still gigantic (over 10k words!) even though I tried my best to keep every tribute's POV as short as possible. Next chapter will be the announcement of the training scores. Enjoy!**

 **POV: Abalone Toteston (District 1 Male)-17 y/o**

I stroll into the gym confidently. The gymnasium looks eerily empty with no other tributes inside of it. But, of course, there on the panel is the cluster of gamemakers, the minds who will decide my life or death in the arena.

"Welcome, Abalone Toteston. You have ten minutes to present your chosen skill. All scores are final," booms Calypso into the microphone. Actually, she's not even wearing a microphone. She's just taking in her regular voice. The acoustics of the gymnasium are exceptional.

I start over to the knife station and get to work. I decided on the knife station because practicing knives back home is my favorite thing to do when I'm bored. I would even say it's my strongest skill.

The knife makes a satisfying scrape as I pull it out of its metal sheath. This is the time to let everything go wild. Forget everything I've ever known about gentleness, and unleash my inner sociopathic killer. I dart over to the dummy and swipe its head off in one clean slice. It tumbles to the floor. I groan as I heave my body to the left and chop off the dummy's arms as well. I stab the dummy through the heart and kick it off of the stand to the ground for good measure, sending it flying through the air. The instant it hits the tiled ground, it explodes into at least ten pieces.

I jog over to another dummy and stab this one in the throat before ripping the menacing blade out and hurling the knife at its left eye. I stand back and hurl the weapon through the air. A deafening boom rolls through the gymnasium when the knife impales the dummy in the center of its chest. I place my hand over my face to shield myself from the spray of material from the dummy. Just for good measure, I rip the knife out of the dummy's chest and stab its forehead with all of my might, sending it tumbling onto the floor with a boom. A loud buzzer sounds from the gamemaker's panel.

"You are dismissed," says Calypso. I kick the table over just for extra credit and set down the knife before strolling out of the training center with a smirk plastered across my face.

 **POV: Sapphire Peretz (District 1 Female)-18 y/o**

"Sapphire Peretz, you have ten minutes to present your chosen skill. All scores are final," booms Calypso, the head gamemaker. I start over to the bow and arrow station, smirking. I remove the bow from its container and nock an arrow. Ensuring that my feet are firmly on the ground and that the arrow will hit the bull's eye when I let go of it, I release the arrow. It whistles through the air and hits the bull's eye of the target.

Confidence pulsing through me, I nock another arrow, and this time aim for the dummy to the right of the target. I set my gaze on the dummy's throat, the most vulnerable part of a human's body, and release the arrow. The arrow lands straight in the throat and lodges itself into the fiberglass.

Reaching back into my sheath of arrows for another go, I aim for the dummy's lungs. This arrow is the fastest yet: it darts through the air at an uninterpretable speed before lodging itself in the chest of the dummy.

My fourth arrow is not as successful as the ones before. Its path is straight enough, but the instant it hits the dummy, it bounces off and clatters to the floor. Rage that my perfect streak was broken floods through me and I can't see straight. I angrily shoot over to the throwing knife station and clutch one of the blades in my hand before chucking one at the dummy with all of my might. I repeat it again, and again, and again. The fury rushing through me gives me that extra boost I need to hit the dummy every single time with the knives. When the buzzer rings to signal that my time is up, at least two dozen throwing knives sprout from the dummy's chest.

A menacing grin on my face, I turn back to the gamemakers.

"Your time is up, Sapphire Peretz," announces a gamemaker impatiently.

"Yes, of course," I rave madly. On my way out of the gymnasium, a kick the dummy off of the stand just for good measure. As soon as it hits the floor, it explodes into a million pieces. Hopefully that'll show the gamemakers what I'm made of.

 **POV: Colton Chancler (District 2 Male)-16 y/o**

I heave my body weight forward and chuck the knife through the air at the far away cloth dummy. The knife shoots through the air so fast that my eyes cannot even process it until it plants itself in the chest of the dummy with a boom.

As soon as the first knife is done with, I grab one off the table instantaneously and do the same thing again. This time, I actually turn my body around so that my back is facing the target, then turn around with a start and hurl the knife with the extra momentum of my circular motion. I outstretch my arm and release the knife. The blade lodges itself into the center of the dummy's neck with a certainly lethal hit.

I decide to make a good show out of the third and final knife on the table. So, I do the same thing I did last time and turn around as I throw the blade. However, I also jerk my arm to the right rapidly and literally throw my body forwards before releasing the knife. The knife darts towards the dummy with immense force. My hands instinctively reach up to cover my ears when the knife collides with the dummy's windpipe. The force is actually so strong that it sends the thing flying off of a table. It crashes into the back wall and cracks in half.

I dart over to the machete station and rob one of the blades to use at the knife station. Nobody tries to stop me. Just for good measure, I chuck the knife at the table on which the dummy sat . The table splits in half down the middle, one half tumbling to the floor and the other half sent flying towards the back wall and clattering down to the floor. A loud buzzer fills the room.

"You are dismissed," says Calypso. Without even looking behind me, I turn and walk out the door of the gym.

 **POV: Emma Walker (District 2 Female)-15 y/o**

 _Boom!_

 _Boom!_

 _BOOM!_

Each time I send a knife whistling through the cool air of the training center gymnasium, and each time the blade lodges itself into the dummy with immense force. I whip my head around and discretely grab another magazine of blades to shoot in rapid fire. Throwing knives rapid fire is the most impressive and most rewarding way to throw knives, just because it looks so cool.

The dummy (which now looks like it was placed in the middle of a battlefield during a hurricane) is putting up surprisingly well. Apart from the bits and pieces that shoot off of the surface every time a new knife flirts with the surface of the dummy, it's more or less in one piece. I only have three knives left. I have to make them count.

I take a bit more time with these final three. For the first one, I give extra momentum by turning my body around and using the extra momentum of my circular motion. It hits the dummy right under the eye like the ones before. Shaking with frustration, I grab the second knife. I need to make a show. I aim for the crack that splits the dummy in half down the middle. If I can hit the crack, I may be able to split the thing completely in half.

I wipe the sweat from my brow and slick my hair back behind my head. This is the moment of truth. I make sure everything is ready, then send the knife flying and it's off, racing through the air. It hits the crack, and agonizing silence reigns for about two seconds. I rejoice when I hear a faint cracking sound from the dummy. It's not just me: the dummy is splitting in half down the middle, the weight of one of the halves hanging off of the edge of the table. I grab the third and final knife and throw it at the thin sheet of material connecting the two halves. It breaks, and both halves tumble to the floor.

I spend the rest of my session over at the machete station, doing virtually the same thing as I did at the throwing knife station. My buzzer goes off. Once the gamemakers dismiss me, I start out of the room, confident that I'll earn a high score.

 **POV: Cirkyt Janik (District 3 Male)-12 y/o**

A deafening clang rings through the gymnasium as the blade of the metal sword strikes the blade of the trainer's sword. I pull the blade away and turn my body completely around, aiming for a chink in the trainer's armor. I try to lunge my blade towards it, but she blocks the blow with her own sword, forcing mine away with a spine-tingling scrape.

My heart drops into my stomach when I see that she's lunging forwards to my chest. In a hasty attempt to block her attempted blow, I smash her sword out of the way. It doesn't clatter to the floor, like I expected. She lifts the blade into the air and holds it with both hands to absorb the blow. I try to swing toward her leg as if I was trying to amputate it, but she jumps into the air to dodge my broad swing.

She tries to do the same for me, this time swinging towards my neck. I drop to the ground to avoid the swing, and shoot back up. I aim for the trainer's neck. I settle my eyes on the spot I'm aiming for. Once you've got control of the neck, it's easy to disarm your opponent (place your sword behind their neck). I point my sword towards her neck and literally leap through the air.

I miss completely. The sword flies past her body, and flies out of my hand onto the floor. I awkwardly scurry over to pick up the sword, brushing off the dust, my face stammering beet red in embarrassment. I could have just blown my chances of getting a high training score. But I have to keep moving forward.

The instant I pick the blade up, the battle resumes, clanging and blocking and swinging menacingly in every direction. Back in District 3, my father taught me how to duel with a sword. Well, kind off. We would gather up fallen branches from trees and carve them into swords. Resourcefulness at its finest.

After what seems like an eternity, I leap at the trainer's exposed neck and lunge my sword there. Soon enough, the cold blade of my sword rests on the back of her neck. She nods twice, a traditional sign of defeat, and I pull the blade away. In the nick of time, too. The buzzer goes off not two seconds after I pull the blade away. I set down the sword on the metal fold-up table after I'm dismissed and stride out of the room, hoping that the gamemakers see my potential and will give me a high score.

 **POV: Gyzmo Kressin (District 3 Female)-18 y/o**

Once the gamemakers tell me that I have ten minutes to present my chosen skill, I get right to work. I choose the spear station because the spear is the weapon that I have the most skill working with. The spears here in the training center are much more aerodynamic than the hand-crafted ones we make back in District 3 to the point that they feel almost unrecognizable in my grasp.

I take a quick glance over the wide array of spears before choosing the one I like best. With a long, solid black wooden shaft and a spray of black foam in the back to guide the arrow as it flies through the air, it most closely resembles the ones we have back home.

I take a few seconds to scan over the target in the distance. About thirty feet away, a red circle in the very middle about six inches in diameter is the bulls-eye—the target I'm aiming for.

Grasping the spear firmly in my right hand, a take a few steps back. I take a running start. When the moment is just right, I release the weapon. It hurdles through the air before landing on the very edge of the target, within an inch of failure.

I awkwardly pick up another spear from the bundle, hoping that I can be more accurate this time as to appease to the gamemakers. I make sure that everything is in the right place and everything is perfect, and then hurl the spear forwards. This one's path through the air is far straighter and more direct than that of its predecessor. It lodges itself into the wooden target less than five or six inches from the bull's eye. Close, but not close enough.

Third time's the charm, they say. I'm about to find out if that saying is fact or fiction. Determined to hit the very center of the target, I line up the spear with the bull's eye and set my gaze on the target. I'm ready. I take a deep breath, then count backward in my head before launching the weapon forward. It flies through the air, racing along as fast as a speeding car before crashing into the target. This one lands in between the two before—not close to the edge and not close to the bull's eye, about right in the middle.

Taking a deep breath to calm myself down in my fit of frustration, I grab a fourth spear. I walk back a few feet to take a running start. I'm about to release the spear when the buzzer sounds and signals that my time is up.

Once Calypso dismisses me, I set down the arrow on the nearby table and stride out of the gymnasium. What terrifies me the most is that I have literally no idea what to expect. Do I dare hope for a 7? Maybe a 6, eve would be happy with.

 **POV: Nathan Kaputo (District 4 Male)-17 y/o**

If there's anything more impressive than throwing knives at a target from the top of a rock wall, then let's hear about it. The most important thing to accomplish in your private session is to do something memorable. Do something that will make you stand out among the few dozen other tributes when the gamemakers are assigning scores. There's really nothing more impressive than doing two different things at the same time.

I sling the backpack filled with throwing knives over my arm and begin climbing the humungous rock wall. It's immensely difficult because of the constant dead weight from the backpack. By the time I'm ten feet from the top of the climbing wall, I'm sweating bullets and my hands feel warm and damp. My legs are jelly and the muscles all over my body feel like they're on fire when I throw myself onto the top platform.

Every single fiber of my being wants to rest here for a few seconds, but I know I can't do that. The gamemakers look for determination and persistence in a real tribute. The backpack slumps down off of my body and I unzip it, pulling out the most menacing looking knife I can find. From up here on top of the wall, there's a clear path to the throwing target. I count backward, and then extend my arm and throw my weight forward. The knife flies through the air, and in the blink of an eye it's lodged into the stiff wood of the target. Upon further investigation, I realize that I didn't actually hit the bull's eye; I missed by a few feet.

I grab another knife from the backpack and try again, aiming for the center of the target. I hurl the knife through the air. It—still doesn't hit the bull's eye. In fact, it lands even further away from the center than my first knife.

Determined to score at least one bull's eye in my short session, I focus every aspect of my being onto the center of the target. Nothing in the world exists except for me, my knife, and the target. The world seems like it's in slow motion as I hurl the dangerous blade through the air. After the cloud of excess powder spraying from the dummy dissipates, I see that I hit bull's eye. Great!

There must be still at least two or three minutes left in my session. I need something else impressive to do. I scan my eyes across the room, and my gaze settles on a stiff metal cord: one of the supports for the climbing wall. I use one of the knives to cut through the arm band of the backpack, and tie the exposed bits of fabric around the long cord. I've fashioned myself a miniature zipline. I grasp tight hold of the backpack and throw my body off of the platform. The cord shakes and jerks wildly as I slide down, but I'm careful to show no signs of fear. As smooth as rolled dough, I let go of the backpack about two-thirds of the way down the zipline and tumble to the floor. As if perfectly timed, the buzzer sounds. After Calypso dismisses me, I set the backpack down on the nearest table and saunter out of the gymnasium.

 **POV: January Frable (District 4 Female)-12 y/o**

The curved sword is, I think, my best weapon. I like how the shape of the blade aligning with the natural bend of my arm makes it feel like an extension of my body. It also cuts through the air the fastest and is the most aerodynamic.

With all the force I can muster up, I slam the blade into the side of the cloth dummy. There's some resistance, of course, but when I loosen my grip on the hilt it stays where it is—suspended above the ground. I rip the blade out of the dummy for another go.

This time, I aim for the dummy's neck, the most vulnerable area of a human's body. The dummy doesn't move like a human does, obviously, but cutting up a dummy is just as impressive and satisfying as doing the same to a human. I slam the blade into the neck of the dummy, making a conscious effort to lodge the tip of the blade as far into the material as possible. I discretely move my body to the left to give the gamemakers a better view of my accomplishment before grabbing another blade off of the table. It's not worth wasting precious time trying to remove the first one.

I bend my knees and crouch down slightly as to have better access to the lower portion of the dummy. In one broad swing, I chop off both of the dummy's legs. It wobbles around for a bit before falling to the floor with a crash. Just for good measure, I throw myself into the air and stomp up and down on the dummy to break it into as many tiny pieces as possible.

I set the blade back on the table and pan my eyes across the gymnasium to find something else to show the gamemakers. Unfortunately, the buzzer goes off before I can make a decision. I'm surprised at how much I accomplished in the brief period of time allotted. I'm really hoping for a high training score because the number of sponsors a tribute gets almost directly equates to their training score. This arena is guaranteed to be the most brutal yet, so I'll need all the help I can get.

 **POV: Dorian Bacchmuth (District 5 Male)-18 y/o**

The climbing wall seems to be designed to be as difficult as possible. The footholds and handlebars are extremely smooth to the point of slipperiness, and they're so small and thin that it's an extraordinary feet to rest your foot on one and be able to support your own weight.

I leap forward onto the climbing wall and grasp tight hold of one of the handlebars to heave myself up a few feet. By the time I'm to the top of the wall, my fingertips are chapped and bleeding from scraping against the rough wooden backboard. Once I'm at the top of the climbing wall, I throw myself onto the platform and rest for a second or two. That only took about two minutes. I still have lots of time left.

After jumping off of the climbing wall onto the soft floor cushion, I scan across the room for something else to impress the gamemakers. I settle on the machete station after a while. I only stick around at the machete station for a few minutes, because I want to be able to run through as many skills as possible in the short period of time allotted.

The machete station is set up rather simply—a table is decorated by a fantastic assortment of deadly blades, right next to a small blue plate on which to stand. About five feet away is a large fiberglass dummy. As soon as my fingers close around one of the blades, I'm in business.

By the time I've chopped off the dummy's head, arms, legs, and smashed the remains of the thing to smithereens, I estimate that I've still got a few minutes left. So, I hurry over to the bow and arrow station. I'm very frustrated when my buzzer rings and I haven't even fired a single arrow, though.

"You are dismissed," announces Calypso as I set down everything. I didn't accomplish everything I wanted to, but if climbing a rock wall and using a machete won't earn me a high score, then I don't know what will.

 **POV: Ambrosia Clemens (District 5 Female)-13 y/o**

Impressing the gamemakers is difficult to do. The tributes that score the highest training scores are the ones who display themselves as tough right from the get go. However, there are many strategies to victory that, I think, are often overlooked. I think my best bet for the games is to just hide in the wild for as long as possible and wait for everyone else to kill each other off. So, I've decided to show the gamemakers my skills in making water safe to drink.

I secure the piece of cloth over the jar of filthy water and secure the cloth in place with a strong rubber band. Grasping tight hold of the jar, I turn it upside down and watch the water cascade down into the metal pail. The cloth serves as a 'barrier' of sorts; the water is able to slip through whilst the dirt and nasties stay behind in the jar because they can't fit through the cloth.

The bottom of the pail—now filled with water—is certainly much more appetizing than before; it's not more mud than water like it was when it was in the jar, and it doesn't smell horrible. But, I know that the water is still teeming with microorganisms. I reach into the leather bag and fumble around until I find the bottle of iodine. I turn the bottle upside down above the pail and watch the drops of water cascade down one by one. Once I count ten drops, I turn the bottle back over and recap it before throwing it back into the bag.

Now for the wait. The only problem is that the gamemakers will be extremely underwhelmed by me just lying around for eight minutes, so I decide to go on the rope course in the meantime.

The rope course is, rather unsurprisingly, extremely difficult! The rope is so thick that it's difficult to grasp hold of, and whenever I swing my body weight forward to grasp the next rung, my back hand burns viciously as it rubs against the rope. It feels immensely satisfying when I finally complete the course and drop down to the ground. For the first time, I notice that my hands are a brilliant red, and that one of them is actually bleeding. Oh, well. It's not serious.

The water should be about ready to drink, now. I jog over to the water purification station and clutch the jar in my right hand. I count backward, and then throw the water in my mouth, taking care to swallow the disgusting stuff before my tongue can really acclimate to the foul taste. Even though it's safe to drink, it still tastes disgusting.

When the buzzer sounds, I set down the pail on the spotless white table and start out of the gym. I know that the two skills I presented aren't the greatest, but at least I gave it my best shot. I just hope that the gamemakers see my potential and give me a high score. Maybe that's too much for an orphan girl to hope for. Maybe they'll give me a low score just to make sure that I'm killed off twice before the real fun begins. It's a cruel, cruel world, isn't it?

 **POV: Michael Leftwich (District 6 Male)-14 y/o**

The object in the distance looks pretty standard for a bow and arrow target; made of what looks to be wood, a small red circle is painted in the middle surrounded by bands of color alternating between black and white. A large white board lies behind the thing so that I won't run the wall if I miss.

I reach into the sheath of arrows and nock one in my bow. Pulling back the end of the arrow as far as possible, I stretch the string so far that it almost hurts to hold back. I aim for the target, and then loosen my grip on the arrow. It flies through the air. The first half of its journey goes well enough. However, about two thirds of the way to the target it starts flying at a downward slant. It strikes the back wall and clatters to the floor.

I lose another arrow into my bow, aiming for the bull's eye of the target just like before. This time is slightly more successful than last time. The arrow whistles past the target with a breadth of less than a foot and lodges itself into the backboard.

Gritting my teeth in impatience, I nock a third arrow. I observe that both of my previous arrows flew past the right of the target, so I aim for the left side of the target and hope that the rightward motion of the arrow will cancel out with the leftward motion and hit the center. The arrow flies through the air, sure and steady, and my skin crawls like liquid in anticipation. The arrow hits the target! But it's towards the edge, and nowhere near the aimed-for bull's eye.

Reaching for a fourth arrow, I investigate what went wrong last time. My arrow hit the left side of the bull's eye. So, I conclude that I need to stand angled to the left ever so slightly. As soon as I send the arrow off, I'm filled with confidence. The arrow flies extremely straight, in a constant direction, and with tons of force. The arrow lodges itself into the target a few inches away from the elusive center.

Confidence restored at the miraculous success of my last arrow, I nock an arrow and pull back my bowstring with all of my might. When I release it, it lands between arrows three and four, about halfway between the center and the edge of the target. It's too late to try again, though, because the loud buzzer sounds.

I think I did significantly well. I try to guess what my score will be. Maybe a 6? Eve would be happy with. Do I dare hope for a 7? Either way, I gave it my best shot. Hopefully the gamemakers will recognize my potential and give me a high training score.

 **POV: Anna Kerkelie (District 6 Female)-17 y/o**

The station for identifying edible plants and animals starts off super easy. It consists of fifty rounds, each one presenting a plant or an animal that I have to identify as either edible or poisonous.

Round one is the easiest of all: the machine in front of me spits out a long orange carrot. Without a second thought, I toss the vegetable into the 'edible' box.

Round two is a stick of celery. Just like the one before, it's a no brainer for me to throw it into the 'edible' box. Rounds three, four, and five are a tomato, a death cap mushroom, and a branch of nightlock berries. I toss them into the 'edible' 'poisonous' and 'poisonous' boxes respectively.

Round six is the first round that actually has some difficulty to it. The machine in front of me spits out a flower . A brilliant scarlet, the flower is perfectly formed and is stunningly beautiful. It looks very safe to eat, but I know too well that looks can be deceiving. I investigate the flower further and discover that the interior of the flower excretes a milky white substance. I take a tiny taste of the substance and instinctively spit to expel the foul, soapy taste. I toss it into the 'poisonous' box, remembering how it is ill-advised to consume anything that tastes soapy.

Round seven presents a dandelion. Why a dandelion is construed to be more difficult than the scarlet flower, I have no idea; we cook dandelions all the time back in District 6. I'm about to toss it into the 'edible' box when I catch a glance of the dandelion's stem. The stem of the 'dandelion' is covered with fine hairs. I recall from training to avoid anything with hairs on the stem. This is no dandelion. I toss it into the 'poisonous' box.

Over the course of the next ten minutes, I repeat the process of inspecting a bug or flower or whatever and tossing it into the appropriate box. Once I've completed all fifty rounds, I insert the boxes into the grading machine that will tell me what score I received.

Anxiety begins coursing through my veins. If I get a low accuracy rate, I could blow my chances of landing a high score. The machine makes a quiet humming sound for a few moments as a scanner passes over the boxes and casts an eerie blue light. The screen hums with life and begins flashing '82 percent accuracy'. Not too shabby.

 **POV: Grover Hutchings (District 7 Male)-16 y/o**

I saunter into the gymnasium apprehensively. The gamemakers sit straight up in their spotless white chairs, staring down at me. Complete silence fills the room. I jump in surprise as a voice booms through the gym telling me that I have ten minutes to present my chosen skill.

I take a few seconds to scan over the array of stations for something that I could do well in. I did well with a knife in training. I guess I'll show my knife skills to the gamemakers.

The knives provided look to be especially designed for killing; longer than my arm, I can actually see the jagged teeth of the edge designed for harming. I'm just wasting time investigating the blades, though. I need to get to work.

I grab the sharpest knife in the pile and plunge it into the dummy's heart before swiftly ripping it out of the material and aiming for the center of the thing's neck. I didn't actually intend to slice the thing's head clean off, but as soon as I aim for the side of the neck the blade plunges through to the other side and the head tumbles to the floor with a crash.

Holding the knife in both hands for added force, I smash the tip of blade into the dummy's appendix and pull it out, leaving a gaping whole yawing through to the other side. With one clean slice, I chop the dummy's left arm off and watch it fall to the floor. I jump up and down on the head and the arm just for good measure.

The right arm takes a bit more force to chop off than the left one, for some reason. I slice in from the side to chop it off and find that it only penetrates about a fifth of the way. I pull the knife out, then in, then out, then in. In less than fifteen seconds, the mass tumbles to the floor.

There's not really much else to do, now, so I knock the dummy off of the table and watch it crack into four or five pieces when it hits the floor. I crouch down on my hands and knees and repeatedly plunge the blade in and out and in and out of the dummy's torso. Once my buzzer sounds, I set down the knife and stroll out the gymnasium. Even though I know they'll either give me a 12 or a 0 either way, I did the best I could.

 **POV: Amber Symons (District 7 Female)-13 y/o**

I lift the heavy axe into the air by its handle, taking care to balance it and prevent the utter embarrassment that would ensue if I dropped it onto the floor. A mischievous and rather menacing grin on my face, I hurl the axe through the air. The thing slams into the cloth dummy and a deafening boom rolls through the training center. I wait about ten seconds for the high-pitched ringing in my ears to die down before retrieving the axe.

My second attempt at wowing the gamemakers is not nearly as successful as the first: I hurl the axe through the air and it nicks the dummy's forehead before continuing on its way, slamming into the decrepit back wall and clattering to the floor.

A wave of anger crashes through me when I see that I've lost the gamemakers attention; some are slumped down in their seats, most are staring off into the distance and some checking their watches.

It's now or never that I reclaim their attention. Racing to retrieve the axe, I pick it up and slam it into the floor, creating an unimaginably loud and painful sound. The gamemakers jerk up their heads in shock as I smash the dummy in the chest from less than three feet away and knock it to the ground.

I'm in business once I lift the axe into the air. I slam the weapon up and down, slicing off an arm or leg or foot each time. Once all of the limbs are scattered around the floor, I resort to breaking the largest piece up, namely the torso. I hit the torso with the axe a few times until a crack forms, then smash the deadly thing up and down for what seems like an eternity. I kill two birds with one stone by crumbling the arms and legs into smaller pieces with my feet while I break up the torso, a vicious grin plastered across my face.

Once the floor is covered with a heap of white dust that used to be the dummy, I smash the axe on to the floor, leaving a sizable dent and creating a shrill sound that causes some of the gamemakers to clap their hands over their ears. Once my buzzer sounds, I shoot the gamemakers a look of such poison that some recoil in shock as I start out of the room. If that doesn't give me a high training score, I have no idea what will.

 **POV: Justin Kirsten (District 8 Male)-18 y/o**

I line the bottom of the fire bed with a thin layer of fireproof material to prevent the flame from getting out of control. I reach into the bucket and dump a handful of dry pine needles in the very center of the bed. Forming a teepee of dry grass around the pile of needles, I strike a match and light the small pile on fire.

What I'm attempting to do is get the small stuff going. Then, I'll put increasingly larger and larger dry plant matter around to allow my fire to increase in size. However, it does not go as planned. The tiny pile of tinder just turns black and crumbles away, putting the fire out before it can even be properly started.

I try again, starting by brushing the burned needles and grass to the side and trying the same things as before. This time, the tiny flame gets significantly underway much more quickly than I expected. My next layer is going to be dead leaves. I reach into the bucket and pull out a handful of dry, dead crumbling leaves and place them in a slightly larger pile around the tinder.

In almost no time at all, the dead leaves are on fire and are burning remarkably fast. Desperately fumbling to arrange a small teepee of twigs around the leaves, I'm careful to leave lots of open space as to not drown out the fire's oxygen supply.

Once the twigs are all on fire in a satisfying arrangement, I surround them with a layer of slightly larger leaves. I then move onto larger sticks, then whole branches, and soon enough a fire roars in front of me. It's dying down quickly, though, and it'll go out unless I can give it more fuel, and soon too. I reach into the bucket of assorted plant matter and desperately search for something to give the fire fuel. Once I notice the fire less than two inches high, I grab the bottle of lighter fluid and dump way too much onto the ember just to buy me some extra time in finding some good fuel. By the time I find a suitable pile of leaves to use, my buzzer rings.

I uncap the jug of water and dump it on top of the fire, extinguishing the thing. It lets out a menacing hiss, and soon only a slight trail of smoke is left to commemorate the defeat. Being able to start a fire may not be the most impressive thing in the world, but knowing how to do it could well save my life in the arena.

 **POV: Calico Alpert (District 8 Female)-13 y/o**

The plant fiber feels moist and warm in my hand. A brilliant green color, it's actually rather beautiful. But, looks are meaningless in an arena where any second your head could be chopped off by a fellow teenager. The main pro of plant fiber is that it's extremely strong, making it ideal for creating rope.

I lay three bundles of plant fiber down on the floor, all parallel to one another. After binding the ends of them together with an elastic, I take turns exchanging each one into the center. Once I get to the very end, the three bundles form a perfect braid.

I repeat the same exact procedure twice more, getting three braids each about the thickness of my finger. Then, I bind the three braids together at the end with a strong rubber band and braid them together, creating an extra strong 'mega-braid' about two inches thick. I create another mega-braid and twist the two together. After a bit of fumbling to wrap a rubber band around the exposed end, I have a strong rope, ready for testing.

I stroll over to the testing station: a cold metal bar suspended about six feet above the ground. I throw the end of the rope over the bar and catch it as it falls back down. Now is the moment of truth. I grasp tight hold of the rope and hoist myself into the air. Looking good so far. I venture so far as to climb up the rope. I'm almost to the very top when I hear a slight cracking sound emanate from the rope. I barely have time to process what's going on when the rope breaks, and I plummet to the ground in a state of shock.

The buzzer sounds before I can even get up off of the floor. Awkwardly avoiding eye contact with the gamemakers, I do my best to clean up the station. Shooting Calypso a quick glance, I quickly start out of the gym. I'm certain that my face is beet red in embarrassment. Oh, well. I gave it my best shot.

 **POV: Jackson Harte (District 9 Male)-16 y/o**

I remove the strong rubber band from around the bundle of sticks and scatter them out on the ground. Being sure to tie each stick to all of the others with plant fiber as I introduce them into the structure, I eventually form a stable teepee shape out of long tree branches.

I start over to the makeshift 'tree' and grit my teeth as I rip out a portion of the ground held together by the roots of the tree. It is immensely difficult, and I have to take out a knife to cut the roots because they are secured to the base of the tree so strongly.

I drape the patch of earth over top of the teepee. One down, ten or twenty to go. I repeat the process of ripping out a sheet of earth over and over and over again until the entire shelter is covered with the stuff. Then, I pop open the can of glue and begin slapping it onto the shelter to hold it together. In the wild, of course, this would be tree sap, but glue is what's provided in the training center.

The shelter slowly comes together, and soon enough it's completed. I cut a flap with a pocketknife for easy entry/exit, and get down on my hands and knees to crawl inside. I fit into the shelter when I curl myself up into the tightest ball I can make. When I close the entry flap, the interior goes pitch black. With the addition of a hot water bottle and a sleeping bag or blanket, this might actually be comfortable.

I don't spend much time inside, though, because I need to display taking down the shelter as well before my buzzer rings. I wriggle my body through the exit flap and shoot out to the outside. I know that I have very little time left, so I make quick work of the shelter, ripping off the sheets of earth and tossing them into a hole in the ground. Once all of the ground is off, I snap the leaves in half, then in fourths, then toss them into the hole. After the shelter is taken down and the hole is almost completely full, I stuff the rest of the ditch full with leaves and then pack all of the remaining air space with soil. By the time my buzzer sounds, there is absolutely no evidence that a human was ever here.

I know that the gamemakers are fonder of weapon and combat skills than survival skills, but I think survival skills are more important to learn. It's all I can do to hope that the gamemakers see how much potential I have to go far in the games and give me a high score.

 **POV: Kennedy Seibold (District 9 Female)-17 y/o**

I lunge towards the tree to get myself a running start. Once I'm less than a yard from the enormous trunk, I leap forward into the air, grasping tight hold of the trunk. Carefully making sure to always place my feet of stable areas of the trunk, I shinny to the side—where there is a stiff branch—and leap on top of it.

The first step of climbing a tree—getting up to the very first branch—is now over. I search around for a slightly higher branch and find one that's about my height above the branch that I'm precariously balancing on right now. Slowly reaching over to grab it, my fingers curl over the branch and I throw myself off of the lowest branch, heaving my body weight up to the next one.

Once I'm stabilized and sufficiently balanced, I realize that there are no branches around that can support my weight from this height. I must resort to shinnying up the trunk. Wrapping my arms around the thick oak tree's trunk, I lift my feet off of the ground and exchange my body weight back and forth on my legs as I move each hand up. Once I find a stable area to land on, I hurl my feet onto the thick branch. Once I've got a good foothold, I throw my body weight onto the branch and fall to my hands and knees.

I'm about a third of the way up the tree, now. I repeat the same exact process as before, searching around for a slightly higher branch and climbing on top of it. I seem to be about two thirds of the way up the tall tree when the loud buzzer sounds from the gamemakers panel.

Now for the fun part. The floor around the tree is covered with a silky blue cushion filled with air designed for us to jump down on when we're done at the station, or in my case done with the session. I clear my throat and move to an area with minimal branches in the way, and then throw my body off the branch. For the two or three seconds that I tumble helplessly through the air, my back naturally turns towards the ground and my feet and head are lifted into the air. My feet instinctively shuffle around to try and find something to grab onto, but by the time I can even register what's going on my body collides into the cushion and the whistling in my ears ceases.

 **POV: Colton Spears (District 10 Male)-14 y/o**

I've actually had a huge amount of practice with a knife back in District 10. We use knives all of the time for so many things, the primary reason being to slaughter animals to sell to the Capitol. Perks of living in the livestock district.

The knives here in the Capitol, though, are so much different than the knives back home. The ones back home were about a foot long, with small jagged ridges on one side and the other side a blunt silvery tint. The ones here in the Capitol, though, are specially designed for killing. As long as my arm, each side of the knife is lined with teeth, each sticking out almost half of an inch and topped with a menacing curved spike. Even the hilt is designed to do harm; if you unzip the leather hilt and pull it off there's a long, unfoldable poison spike to use in case the sword breaks.

The knife cuts through the torso of the cloth dummy like a saw penetrating butter. The blade dives through the material and shoots out of the other side. Once I rip the blade out, I am assaulted by a spray of white powder that has been chipped or scraped off of the dummy by the teeth of the blade.

I aim for the dummy's neck for my neck shot. Holding the knife almost a yard behind my head, I lunge it forward and slam it into the dummy's neck. It cuts through the surface of the material and shoots out of the back side as if the dummy weren't even there, and after I pull the blade out a huge gaping hole is left as a token of the defeat.

I decide to utilize the second main purpose of a knife other than for melee: throwing. I walk backward until I'm about twenty feet from the dummy and hurl the blade through the air. I can actually hear the whistling sound that the blade creates as it dives through the air, attentively barreling towards its target. A deafening boom rolls through the gymnasium like thunder when the blade… misses the dummy completely and lodges itself into the back wall.

Awkwardly scurrying over to retrieve the blade, I try again, this time four or five feet closer to the dilapidated dummy than before. Carefully aligning the blade with my target, I lunge forward and chuck the knife through the air. It flies through the air for a few moments before colliding with the dummy's neck and lodging itself deep into the fabric. A near perfect shot. I grin in triumph, confidence restored that I have a chance, however slight it may be, of returning alive to District 10.

 **POV: Amanda Boix (District 10 Female)-12 y/o**

Closing one eye as to be more accurate with my shot, I grab the stone and place it on the rubber stretch of the slingshot and pull it back as far as it will go so that it just lightly touches my face. Estimating how high I need to aim to land the rock from the slingshot into the bucket, I let go of the rock and release the enormous quantity of elastic potential energy.

The stone flies through the air at a reasonably fast speed. I think that slingshots are the most undercredited tool to use in the arena. If a tribute is pursuing you, especially one without any weapons, a slingshot is a quick and easy way to throw them off guard if you knock them in the head. If you're being chased by a more experienced and skilled attacker like a career, a slingshot can be used to mislead them and they could mistake the sound of it landing in a pile of leaves far away as you trying to make a run for it in that direction.

The rock doesn't land in the bucket. Instead, it lands five or six feet away from the target and collides with the floor, making a painful and hollow sound when it does. Reaching into the bucket for another rock, I nock it in the slingshot and learn from my failure last time that I'm aiming too far to the left. So, I turn the tool slightly more to the right than I did last time and unleash the rock. It flies through the air and nicks the side of the bucket before hitting the floor. I can't help but gasp when it does. I was so close!

My third rock is much more successful than those before it. I place it in the very center of the slingshot, and pull it back as far is it will go. Then, I aim perfectly towards the bucket and release the stone. It hurdles through the air before hitting the side of the bucket and knocking it over. Not exactly what I was aiming for, but impressive nonetheless.

After shuffling over and placing the bucket back up, I conclude that there can only be a few minutes remaining in my session. I have to really wow the gamemakers this time. The world appears to be in slow motion as I aim the slingshot perfectly towards the bucket, meticulously ensuring that everything is perfect. Once my stance is in place and I'm extremely confident that I can hit the bucket, I loosen my grip on the stone.

The rock smacks into the back of the bucket and knocks it over, rolling away through the gym. I must admit that I'm quite pleased with my performance. I'm confident that I can hope for a decent score.

 **POV: Aster Sabatello (District 11 Male)-14 y/o**

I recoil in disgust as I reach into the jar and pull out a wet, slimy cricket. The edible insects station is situated in the very corner of the room, with a curved table facing the wall and a huge assortment of jars decorating the line of shelves on the floor. Inside each jar is an insect.

The black cricket wriggles around between my thumb and index finger, but its limbs are clipped so that it can't hop away. Crickets are actually one of the most common insects that we eat back in District 11. I would even venture to say that we eat them all of the time. Whenever we are particularly hungry, we leave cricket traps in the backyard and fry them over the fire. They're actually quite tasty. That is, if you can get over the texture. Sometimes we even trap them for fun when our parents are out working and we get a day off.

Without a second thought, I drop the cricket into the 'edible insects' jar, the very first for me to do so. I presume that the station will start off easy and get gradually more difficult.

I reach into the black jar labeled with the number two. Inside is a stick covered with big black ants. We eat ants all of the time back home as well. We kill them with boiling water and then sprinkle them onto crackers. Sometimes, when the seven planets align, we have enough money to soak them in caramel and then fry them over the fire. I toss the twig of ants into the 'edible insects' box.

I reach into the third jar and feel a pleasant brushing sensation against the back of my hand. When I pull it out, I see a brilliantly colored monarch butterfly. With a stunning ink-black body, its wings are almost as big as my hands. It looks very much to be edible, but looks can be deceiving. The monarch butterfly is actually very poisonous. Eat the whole thing and you'll start to feel very nauseous and you might even throw up, something unwanted in the games. I place the butterfly into the 'poisonous insects' box.

As soon as I pop the jar off of number four, a quiet, low-pitched hum rings in my ears. Inside the box is a bumblebee. I actually have some trouble identifying this one as edible or poisonous. I can't remember a single time eating one of these back home. I create an image in my head of the field behind my house, and I don't picture any bumblebees. I know, of course, that the sting of the bumblebee is poisonous, so I place it into the 'poisonous insects' box just to be safe.

Jar number five presents a slimy, brown earthworm. I identify it as edible without a second thought. We eat these all of the time back home. It's super easy to catch them because of how they come out en masse after a rainstorm. Right before it rains, I go outside and dig a series of small holes in the yard. After the storm, each one has ten to twenty worms wriggling around inside of it. The one downside to eating worms is that, after you kill them with boiling water, you have to let them sit and dry out for ten hours before you can eat them.

The sixth jar presents an earwig. I immedietly think back to a time three or four years ago when my grandfather came over for my tenth birthday and showed us how to catch and eat earwigs. They are easily catchable by taking a mason jar or something and putting a tiny bit of vegetable oil in the bottom. Then, if you lay it on its side earwigs will crawl in en masse for a taste of the stuff and drown.

I'm about to pull out jar number seven when my buzzer rings. I think I'm set for surviving a few weeks in the wild.

 **POV: Lillian Forseberg (District 11 Female)-13 y/o**

I dip the end of the thick, black brush into the brown paint and pull it out. I slap the oily substance up and down my arm until the entire thing is covered with the material. Then, I wash out my brush in the cup of water and swirl it around in the jar of silver paint.

Being careful as to spread out the paint and make it look as natural as possible, I apply the silver paint in long, thin wavy strokes up my forearm. Meandering and twisting the lines, I make sure that they're not too straight as that would look too artificial.

I swirl the end of my brush around in the clear water and dip it in the caramel colored jar. Putting on a very light coat up and down my arm, I periodically blow on it to make it dry faster. Once a layer of the amber-colored stuff is evenly distributed on my arm, I grab for the green brush.

I squash the green brush up against my lower arm and pull it upward, coiling it around into a loop of color when it's about halfway up. I do the same on the back and two sides. When I pull away the brushes and drop them all into the cup of muddy-brown water, my arm looks like a log. But, it's in perfect condition.

To make it look more realistic and worn down, I pick out a brush and dip it lightly into the white paint. I dot specks of the starch white color around my arm to represent holes dug by a parasite or a woodpecker.

I hold up my arm to show the gamemakers. Just in time, too. The loud buzzer sounds signaling that the time allotted for my private session is up. I set all of the tools and brushes down on the table and head over to the sink to wash all of the paint off. When I put my arm under the running water, it washes away next to nothing. So, I uncork the bottle of paint removing alcohol and spread it across the arm. Now, I can grab a ruler and take off all of the paint in one clean scrape. The smushy clump of the stuff falls into the sink and rolls toward the middle before tumbling into the drain. I've overshot the length of my session by well over two minutes. I start out of the gymnasium before I really get on the gamemakers bad side.

 **POV: Julian Ackerly (District 12 Male)-18 y/o**

I grab the next rock on the rock wall and heave my body weight up. My legs are so tired they feel like jelly and the muscles all over my body feel like they're about to melt away like ice cream on a hot summer day. Every time I lift one of my arms up, it feels like it's on fire, and every fiber of my being cries out in protest whenever I move a muscle. Every part of me begs for me to let go and plummet to the floor and rest except for my willpower.

I let out a groan of pain as I heave myself up onto the next stone. At this point on the rock wall, the stones are actually moving in and out of the wall at random intervals, meaning that I have to keep moving all four of my limbs, spare me falling from the wall onto the floor. I hastily kick my foot up onto the next rock and pull my other foot up with it. I yelp in panic when the rock that both of my feet are on begins to recede into the wall. In a fit of panic, I kick them off of the rock.

This is one of the most terrifying moments I have ever experienced in my life. For ten or fifteen seconds, my entire body weight is suspended from my now throbbing arms as my feet desperately scramble around for something, anything to grab hold on. Right after I contemplate leaping off of the wall and giving up, my foot lands on a rock sticking out over a foot. I kick both of my burning feet onto the heaven-sent thing and relax for at least ten seconds.

My stomach contracts with terror when the rock begins being pulled back into the wall. In a daze of panic, I grab the nearest thing to me—a metal bar—and grasp hold of it. Once the rock recoils back into the wall, I'm left hanging from the metal bar by just my bare hands. It takes all of the force I can muster up to lift my feet into the air and place them on the bar, and it takes all of the motivation I can muster up to stand more than thirty feet above the ground, standing on a thin metal bar with no protection.

I jerk my body suddenly and almost scream when my buzzer sounds. I count backward in anticipation, then lick my lips nervously and leap from the top of the rock wall. As my body plummets towards the ground, I actually feel free. I even giggle in excitement at how fun it is, but by the time I really get to savor the freedom of freefalling through the air, my body collides with the floor cushion and silence grips the world.

 **POV: Danielle Koltser (District 12 Female)-13 y/o**

I reach into the bucket and search around for two sticks that are the right shape and size to build a snare with. I eventually find two suitable ones: one that's about an inch in diameter and a tan color, and one that's slightly thinner and a deep brown color.

In order to build a snare, I need to carve both of the sticks into very specific shapes. I whip a pocketknife out of the small green plastic baggie and unfurl the blade. Being careful as to not accidentally cut myself, I cut a large hold into the side of the thicker stick. I set it down and carve the other stick into an 'L' shape.

I firmly plant the thick stick with the dent in the side into the ground and pack the soil around it. Then, I grab a piece of rope and tie a loop at the end that tightens when I pull on it. I attatch the other end of the string to the end of a strong sapling, then insert the lower arm of the 'L' shape into the dent in the lower stick.

I stand back, flip the switch and turn on the tester—a small metal machine that moves like a rabbit or other small mammal—and watch it do its thing. It steps into the loop of string as planned, and once it walks away the two sticks disconnect and the thing is hoisted into the air, wriggling around in a desperate attempt to escape the snare but unsuccessfully.

I watch it struggle for a bit before flicking the 'off' switch and taking it out. Then, I reset the snare and do the same thing again. I test it ten times, and six of those ten attempts are successful. Not amazing, but not terrible either. I'm confident that I can survive long into the games. I might even be able to return alive back to District 12. Is that even possible? I may never know.

 **Alrighty! This chapter is well over 10 thousand words long and is the longest chapter of this story to date! After I pasted it into doc manager my computer froze for about ten seconds for it to load XD. I hope you've enjoyed. Next chapter will be the announcement of the training scores. Then will be the interviews, and finally the games themselves. Please review and tell me what you think!**

 **Published 8/27/17**


	22. Training Scores

**Chapter 22-Training Scores:**

 **And now for the moment you've all been waiting for: the announcement of the training scores! Here's how this chapter will work: it will be divided into 24 sections, one for each tribute. At the start of each section will be a 'gamemaker's notes' kind of thing that will recap what they did during their private session. Then will be the tribute's opinion on their training score. At the very end of this chapter will be a quick recap of all the scores for quick reference. Enjoy!**

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D1M_

 _Annihilated a dummy with a sharp knife. Literally annihilated. He walked towards a dummy and walked away from a heap of grey powder and clumps of fiberglass. Excellent showmanship as well. Seems very proud of himself, maybe a little too much. Just the typical career. I'd give him a nine or a ten._

 **POV: Abalone Toteston (District 1 Male)-17 y/o**

I'm lucky, because my score is the very first to be read. I don't have to wait around in anticipation through the other tribute's scores because mine is at the very beginning. I sit on the edge of the sofa in anticipation. The other tribute's impressions of me are banking on this moment.

"And now for the moment you've all been waiting for, the announcement of the training scores!" reads Marcel Flickerman. He clears his throat before continuing. "First off, we have Abalone Toteston of District 1 with a score of nine!"

In one chorus of sound that almost seems too perfect not to be planned, my entire prep team consisting of my stylist, my escort, and my mentor all squeal and begin shaking rapidly and laughing and crying at the same time. Once they finally come to their senses, they dart over to me and sit down on the couch next to me, crushing me painfully between their bodies and bickering about how they're so proud of me. They finally shut up when Marcel begins reading the rest of the scores.

Despite the fact that I try to control my inner joy, an unstoppable grin of triumph slowly spreads across my face. I've gotten a nine. Nine! I bet my family is proud back home. If I can win this thing and bring pride to my family and honor to my district, that's all that matters.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D1F_

 _Used a bow and arrow to shoot a far-away dummy. Seemed more focused on accuracy than putting on a good show. She hit the dummy the majority of the time but missed a few times. Unhappy with her performance, she snapped the dummy into several pieces before leaving, proving she sports that typical career-attitude. Sponsors will go crazy for that perfect combination of skills with a bow, knife, and looks that is Sapphire. Still wasn't very accurate, though. Probably an eight._

 **POV: Sapphire Peretz (District 1 Female)-18 y/o**

I take a deep breath and lean forward on the couch as Marcel reads my name and district. My stylist, mentor, and escort all invade my personal space by sitting around me on the sofa and squeezing me between their bodies.

"And now, the lovely Sapphire Peretz of District 1 received the wonderful score of eight!" Marcel reads. The three women sitting around me all scream in synchronization and throw their arms around me, making it difficult to breathe in their embrace. They stay here for about a minute, giggling and talking and crying and saying that they're so proud of us two and that District 1 will surely win this year. I play along, thanking them and trying not to giggle at the silly Capitol accent.

I'm certainly a bit disappointed with my score. I thought that little stunt I pulled at the end of my session would me enough to tip me over the edge and get a nine, but I guess not. I'm actually kind of pleased by my score. Eight is above average. It's what the careers strive for. I evaluate my opposition by watching through the rest of the scores. It's all I can do to hope that there's an abundance of low scores in the outlying districts. That'll make it so that even the lowest career's score will seem impressive in comparison.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D2M_

 _Threw an entire magazine of throwing knives rapid-fire, one after the other. Seems very conceited, but that's the typical career for you. Most of the throwing knives hit the target, with one or two misses. After using up all of the knives at the knife station, he ran over to the machete station and chucked them at the dummy's windpipe. Destroyed the dummy in a few minutes. Great showmanship, paid very close attention to putting on a good show just as much if not more than being accurate. I'd give him a solid 10._

 **POV: Colton Chancler (District 2 Male)-16 y/o**

Marcel's eyes widen in disbelief before he reads my score, a sure sign that it's a high one.

"Colton Chancler of District 2 received a score of ten. Well done!" Marcel stammers out, adjusting his eyeglasses. The instant he utters the word ten and the two digits begin flashing in front of a picture of my face, my entire prep team begins rapid-fire complimenting me. I make out a few phrases like the occasional 'well done' or 'congratulations'.

Marcel proceeds to read through the rest of the scores. I make out Hamilton, my mentor, whispering to me. I ask him to repeat what he said because I didn't catch it the first time.

"I said well done," Hamilton repeats. "I'm really proud of you. Ten is a high score," he compliments as he flashes me a thumbs up. I nod in appreciation, returning the gesture and smiling. I'm very happy with my score. Tens are sparingly given, and I feel very honored to have received one. I can't wait to enter the arena, especially with twice the number of kills to make. Let the 100th Hunger Games begin.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D2F_

 _Threw several throwing knives at a dummy and cracked it down the middle, sending the halves tumbling off of the table in opposite directions. Incredible aim and impeccable accuracy, but seemed much more focused on being accurate than being impressive and putting on a good show. A career who doesn't know how to put on a show might as well go jump off of a cliff. But, then again, she is a career. It would blow her chances of getting into the career alliance if she got a seven or lower, and we need a strong career alliance for these very special games. I think I've settled on an eight or nine, but I'll have to run this by the other gamemakers before making the final decision._

 **POV: Emma Walker (District 2 Female)-15 y/o**

My stylist Laila wraps her arm around me and sits close to me. I can feel her warmth, comforting and soft, seeping into my body.

"Next up we have Emma Walker of District 2 with the lovely score of 9! Well done, Emma," Marcel reads. Laila gasps in shock and shoots up her hand to cover her mouth. She begins laughing and crying at the same time as she wraps both of her arms around me.

Hamilton and Albus, my mentor and escort respectively, both prance over to where I sit on the couch and pat me on the back twice each, complimenting me and telling me how proud they are of me. I got a nine. A decent score for a career, but I was definitely aiming for a lovely ten or eleven. Oh, well. Abalone got a nine too and he seems to be one of the Capitolite's favorites right now. I'll settle for a nine. Even an eight, I would have been happy with.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D3M_

 _Showed great skill in sword fighting with one of the trainers. He's only twelve years old, though, so I would hesitate to give him an eight or above. I think seven might be the best score for him because of his age and his lack of anything that makes him stand out from the other tributes. I'll go run this by the other gamemakers now._

 **POV: Cirkyt Janik (District 3 Male)-12 y/o**

In his bubbly Capitol accent, Marcel Flickerman reads my training score aloud.

"Cirkyt Janik of District 3 received a score of six. Well done!" Marcel chirps.

"Congratulations," my escort says as she flings her arms around me. The remainder of my prep team begins spitting out compliments rapidly and laughing. I'm very happy with my score. A six is more than I dared to hope for as a twelve-year-old from a non-career district.

We all sit back down on the couch with a happy spirit in the air. Maybe I do have a chance of making it back home. However small it may be, it's there. I have to take advantage of that tiny opportunity and do everything I can to make it grow as large as possible. Then I'm sure to exit the games alive.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D3F_

 _Showed some skill with throwing a spear. Missed or landed towards the target's edge most of the time, but hit the center a few times. She's eighteen, adding to the reason for her to receive a high score, but still wasn't very accurate. I think the five to seven range might be a good idea, but we're a little flexible with D3 tributes because of how much they change when they're actually put at risk of life and limb in the arena. I think a six or seven would be appropriate._

 **POV: Gyzmo Kressin (District 3 Female)-18 y/o**

Marcel straightens himself up in his chair and apprehensively adjusts his eyeglasses before reading my score aloud.

"Next up, we have Gyzmo Kressin of District 3, who received a training score of…" he pauses for a bit to let the anticipation draw out. "Seven. Great job!"

My entire prep team throw themselves off of the couch and begin prancing around the room like a flock of colorful birds circling a feeder and squealing in excitement.

"Oh, I'm so proud of you two," says Dominic, our escort.

"Yeah. District 3 is definitely going to win this year," says my mentor Joshua, grinning and giving us thumbs up.

Wow! A seven and a six for the two District 3 tributes is something I never would have expected before. I'm extremely satisfied with my score; seven is high enough to impress the other tributes and low enough as to avoid being seen as cocky. Either way, seven is a phenomenal score. I sit myself down on the sofa as the rest of the scores are read to see what I'm up against.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D4M_

 _Threw knives at a target from the top of the climbing wall, hitting the target most of the time. Showed obvious signs of exhaustion and struggle to get to the top of the wall, but persevered enough to reach the top; something we look for in a good tribute. Put on a great show and was obviously very proud of himself and his performance. Had the creativity to combine two stations in one, with great showmanship. I'd give him a nine or a ten._

 **POV: Nathan Kaputo (District 4 Male)-17 y/o**

I've already told my entire prep team what I did during my session, and they say that they're very proud of me. Up until a few minutes ago we were all throwing around guesses as to what score I would earn. I'm hoping for a nine. I just couldn't bear to be the lowest scoring career.

"Next up is the two tributes from District 4, the district of fishing!" Marcel reads, squinting his eyes to read the small print. "Firstly, we have Nathan Kaputo with the score of ten! Amazing!"

I blink a few times and shake my head. I must be imagining things. But no matter what I do, the number flashing on screen stays as the number ten. It's real. I got a ten.

"Whooohooo!" yells my prep team, bounding across the room and throwing their arms around my body.

"I knew you could do it!" exclaims my escort.

"You'll do great, just wait and see!" compliments my stylist.

All I do is accept their compliments and smile. I made it. I think about all of the boys back in District 4 who tried to volunteer at the reaping as well. But they didn't make it. I made it. I think of what low scores the outlying district tributes will earn. They won't make it. I will. I imagine being crowned by President Lock as the victor of the 100th Hunger Games.

I will make it.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D4F_

 _Hacked apart a dummy with a curved sword, then stomped up and down on it to break it up as much as possible. Cleary tries to put on a good show. I really want to like this girl, I really do, but I just can't see past her annoying twelve-year-old self and see anything but a bloodbath death inside. A strong career alliance is something we really need for these special games, and giving her a low score will just blow her chances of landing a spot. Seven._

 **POV: January Frable (District 4 Female)-12 y/o**

"January Frable, our girl tribute from the district of fishing, received a score of seven. Great job, January!" Marcel reads. At this, my mentor, escort and stylist squeal in excitement and begin shaking rapidly and giggling.

"Amazing!" replies my mentor. "I'm so proud of you two. One of you will surely win. I know it in here," she says, placing her hand over her heart.

I'm fine with my score. It could be better and it could be worse. A seven is mediocre for a District 4 tribute. I think I was barely snatched from the claws of death by getting above a six. Being a career tribute and scoring a six or lower is basically a ticket to being killed off in the bloodbath. But I won't be killed off in the bloodbath. I can't be. I will return home to District 4 and show the Capitol what I'm made of.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D5M_

 _Shinnied up the climbing wall like a squirrel. Reached the top, then jumped off and ran over to the machete station, chopping up and annihilating the dummy almost perfectly. He'll probably get a nine, maybe a ten._

 **POV: Dorian Bacchmuth (District 5 Male)-18 y/o**

"Dorian Baccmuth, the male tribute from the district of electricity, received the wonderful score of ten! Amazing!" Marcel announces.

"Yeah!" my escort screams as she throws her arms around me and flashes me a grin as wide as the moon. I return the gesture; my lips naturally form a smile. I made it. I got a ten! Ten! Ten is more than I hoped for as a District 5 tribute.

My prep team hastily scurries back over to their spots and thump down onto the sofa to watch the rest of the scores, and for once I can have a moment of at least partial silence. I'm extremely happy with my score. Sponsors will be coming in droves once they figure out that I got one of the highest training scores. Ten. Ten. The word repeats itself over and over in my mind for the rest of the night.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D5F_

 _Purified an entire pail of water and made it safe to drink. I'm deliberating a lot about what score to give this girl because there are two different approaches to grading her. One approach is to say that she did what she set out to do very well, which she did. But, purifying water is not the most impressive thing to show us. She may be good with the survival skills like we observed during training, but she wouldn't last five seconds with a hundred yards of the pack of bloodthirsty careers. Probably a 4 or a 5._

 **POV: Ambrosia Clemens (District 5 Female)-13 y/o**

I'm absolutely terrified because I have no idea where I stand in the eyes of the gamemakers. Did they like my performance and see my potential to win? Did they brush me aside as a pesky bloodbath death to kill off before the real fun begins? A mix of the two? I have no idea, and the feeling of not knowing is quite possibly the most tantalizing feeling on Earth.

"Ambrosia Clemens of District 5 received the fantastic score of five. Great job!" announces Marcel. At this, the members of my prep team prance over to where I sit on the sofa and all hug me, complimenting me about how proud they are that I got a five.

Honestly, the only emotion that I feel is relief. Relief that the tension of having no idea what my training score will be is over. Relief that the feeling of 'not knowing' is over. I slump down on the couch and watch Marcel read the rest of the training scores, having the first moment of true peace ever since I uttered those four special words at the reaping.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D6M_

 _Tried to use a bow and arrow and missed every single time. Got pretty close to the target most of the time, though. Probably a two, maybe a three._

 **POV: Michael Leftwich (District 6 Male)-14 y/o**

"Michael Leftwich of District 6 received the score of three. Congratulations!" announces Marcel, obviously pretending to be proud of my pathetic score of three.

"Great job," my escort pats me on the back. "You'll do great in the arena, just wait and see."

"Yeah. You'll make it real far. I see real potential in you," my stylist says.

I slouch down on the couch, discouraged. I don't know why. Being from District 6 I couldn't really have hoped for a high score anyways. I guess it's just that I look up at the careers that are scoring nines and tens and realize how unfair this world really is. Shipping innocent kids off to their deaths because of crimes their great-grandparents committed. Life really is unfair. If I die with dignity in the arena than that's all that matters.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D6F_

 _Got eighty-two percent accuracy on the edible plants station. Not exactly the most impressive thing in the world, but she accomplished everything that she set out to do. Possibly a four and maybe a five._

 **POV: Anna Kerkelie (District 6 Female)-17 y/o**

"Anna Kerkelie, our girl tribute from the district of transportation, received the score of four! Great job, Anna!" announces Marcel.

My prep team begins rapidly complimenting me, and my escort even comes over and throws her arms around my torso.

A four is alright. A four is in the middle for an outer district tribute. I'm somewhat disappointed with my score, of course, because being able to identify edible plants is a crucial survival skill and I thought I would get a higher score than four. I'm content for now, though, because what's done is done and I'm stuck with this number throughout the games no matter what I do.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D7M_

 _Used a sword to destroy a fiberglass dummy. I would have given him a six or a seven, but President Lock gave personal orders for us to give him a twelve. So, for the sake of our heads, twelve it is._

 **POV: Grover Hutchings (District 7 Male)-16 y/o**

Marcel looks completely taken aback when he sees my score on the piece of paper. He recoils in confusion and squints his eyes while adjusting his eyeglasses. He stutters for a bit before reading the score.

"Grover Hutchings, our male tribute from the district that manufactured this very paper from which I am reading the scores, received a score of twelve. Fantastic," Marcel stammers out, face flushing red.

In one chorus of sound, my entire prep team begins squealing violently and shaking their bodies around in excitement. They all dart over to where I sit on the leather sofa and throw their arms around me, complimenting me about how they're so proud that I got the max score.

"Wait, what _did_ you do in your private session that you got a twelve?" asks my escort.

"Oh, um, a lot of things actually… I used a bow and arrow, an axe, a sword, climbed the wall, and ran a lap around the gym in seventeen seconds. And the gamemakers must have liked me," I lie. If I told them the actual reason that I got a twelve, they wouldn't believe it and they just wouldn't understand.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D7F_

 _Impeccable performance with an axe. We paid lots of attention to her at the beginning of the session, but we had seen enough to judge her performance within a few minutes and so we all kind of zoned out. But, she slammed her axe on the floor and yelled, demanding our attention for the remainder of her session. So, we watched as her axe cut through the dummy like a hot knife through butter, all with a murderous grin on her face. I would give her an eleven because of her guts, her axe skills, and her sassy attitude. Yep, I think eleven is the gold._

 **POV: Amber Symons (District 7 Female)-13 y/o**

"Amber Symons of District 7 received a score of eleven! Fantastic job, Amber!" Marcel reads. At this, my prep team literally screams. I clap my hands over my ears to drown out the noise as I feel strong arms wrap around my torso, the arms of my mentor.

"Wow, you two, an eleven and a twelve from the District 7 tributes? Great job! I'm speechless!" she says, a wet tear of joy tumbling from her eye onto the floor.

"I'm so proud of you two. You'll go far in the arena, just wait and see," my escort says.

All I do is sit back on the sofa and cross my arms, grinning from ear to ear. I made it. I got an eleven! I can practically see the venomous looks on the careers faces when they learn that both of the tributes from the lumber district got higher scores than them. Ha! It'll be priceless.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D8M_

 _Started a fire. Followed the proper technique of putting on small things first and then adding in progressively larger things instead of lighting a huge pile on fire all at once. Being able to start a fire may well save his life in the arena. I'd give him a four, maybe a five. Then again, he's eighteen so probably a five._

 **POV: Justin Kirsten (District 8 Male)-18 y/o**

I'm super nervous about my training score now that I've seen what other scores I'm up against. I can't help but predict what I will score. Maybe a five? Is a six reasonable to hope for?

"Justin Kirsten, the male tribute from the district of textiles, received the fantastic score of five. Very well done!" Marcel announces. That's decent. It won't make sponsors line up and down the block to rain gifts upon me, and it won't dismiss me as a bloodbath kill. I see a five as being kind of in the middle in terms of training scores.

"Well done," my escort compliments me as he slouches down on the couch next to me. "I'm real proud of you. You'll go far in that arena. Just you watch."

I accept his compliment with a somewhat forced _thanks_ and sit up on the sofa. I wonder how many sponsors I'll get in the arena, if any. I think there's way too much on my mind right now. Not like the rest of my life has been any different.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D8F_

 _Made a rope by braiding together bits of plant fiber and tying them at the ends. Rope-tying isn't a very impressive skill in the first place, but whatever. Then, when she tried to hang from the rope, it snapped and she fell to the ground, her buzzer ringing before she could do anything else to impress us. Gets a two for trying. We only give ones to tributes who sit around and stare at us the whole time._

 **POV: Calico Alpert (District 8 Female)-13 y/o**

I know what score I'm getting. I'm getting a two. I really did put on a pathetic performance.

"Calico Alpert of District 8 received the score of two. Well done!" exclaims Marcel with an overly happy and fake tone in his voice as he pretends to be excited about my score.

"Great job, Calico," my mentor says as she wraps her arm around me. "You gave it your best shot and that's all that matters."

Tears sting the back of my eyes as I cross my arms and stare at the ceiling to control myself. For the first time, I truly accept that I most likely won't be returning home alive. I just sit with my legs crossed; staring at the ceiling knowing that I'll burst out crying if I say anything. Once I've calmed down, I uncross my legs and watch Marcel read the rest of the scores.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D9M_

 _Created a great makeshift shelter around a tree with only sticks and plant fiber. With great speed and haste, he built up the shelter and took it down, burying the parts in a hole to cover up his tracks. Probably a four, just because building a shelter isn't the most impressive thing in the world._

 **POV: Jackson Harte (District 9 Male)-16 y/o**

"Jackson Harte, the male tribute from the district that produces the grain that nourishes us all, received a score of four. Well done!" Marcel exclaims.

"Wow! Great job!" my escort says, gently patting my shoulder a few times.

"Yeah," repeats my mentor. "That's a really good score. You should be proud."

I'm decently happy with my score. It's not fantastic, and it's not horrible. It's kind of in the middle. I'm confident that I can make it far into the games.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D9F_

 _Climbed up a tree like a squirrel. Very dexterous, coordinated, and intelligent. We have very often seen tributes whose lives are saved by their ability to climb trees. I'd probably give her a six, but if the other gamemakers think that that's too high I'll have to lower it to a five or a four._

 **POV: Kennedy Seibold (District 9 Female)-17 y/o**

"Kennedy Seibold of District 9 received the score of five. Well done!" Marcel announces.

"Great job!" my escort compliments, gently patting me on the back. "You'll go far. I see it in you."

I have mixed feelings about my score. On one hand, I think it's really good because all I showed the gamemakers was me climbing a tree. On the other hand, I think it's really bad. I run through the other tribute's training scores in my heads. I could easily be lost in the sea of nines and tens from the more wealthy districts and get minimal sponsors. I have no idea where I stand, and that's what scares me more than anything.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D10M_

 _Showed great skill in using a knife. I mean serious skills. He chopped apart and threw and destroyed a dummy with a single knife. I can't believe I'm writing this, but I think he deserves an eight or a nine. That'll make him one of the highest scoring District 10 tributes of all time. During training, we also observed him at the sword, machete, and edible plants station. Really impressed us._

 **POV: Colton Spears (District 10 Male)-14 y/o**

"Amazing! Colton Spears of District 10 received the wonderful score of eight. Well done, Colton!" Marcel exclaims.

The reaction from my prep team is not at all what I expected. How escorts and mentors typically react when their tribute gets a high score is usually by rapidly complimenting them and laughing and wrapping their arms around them. But, when Marcel reads aloud that I got a score of eight, my entire prep team freezes. My escort doesn't even move; her face just turns red as she makes strange noises desperately trying to form words. My mentor throws her hand over her mouth with her eyes wide open and stares at me. The silence is very strange and almost eerie.

All of the sudden, I jump in alarm when both women scream. Literally scream. My mentor lunges towards me and throws her arms around me, and my escort unleashes a deafening squeal as she leans against me and awkwardly pats my back.

"I can't believe that you got an eight!" my escort hollers.

I just accept their compliments and sit back. I got an eight. That's more than I dared hope for! The one downside is that this will move me to the very top of the career's kill list. I guess that it's not as great as I thought.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D10F_

 _Used a slingshot to shoot at a target. Very accurate and precise, but what in the world is using a slingshot useful for? I'd give her a three, but I have to see what the other gamemakers think first before making the final decision._

 **POV: Amanda Boix (District 10 Female)-12 y/o**

"Amanda Boix of District 10 received the marvelous score of three. Amazing job, Amanda!" Marcel exclaims, laying the piece of paper down on the table and smoothing it out.

"Great job!" my escort says, patting me on the back. I give her apprehensive _thanks_ and sit back down on the couch.

"You seem a little down in the dumps lately, Amanda," says my escort, concerned. "What's wrong?"

What I want to say is 'Duh. I'm about to be thrown into an arena to fight to the death with several other innocent children against my will and have my death be broadcasted across the whole country'. What I actually say is "I don't know. I guess my training score isn't what I hoped it would be."

"Oh, well that doesn't matter" she replies, sitting down next to me. "Remember a few years ago when the victor only got a four as his training score?"

"Yeah" I reply, thinking back to a while ago when this thirteen year old boy got a four and killed literally nobody during the games. I guess I do have a chance of winning.

"You feeling better?" she asks. Once I give her an affirmative smile, she prances back over to her spot and slumps down on the couch.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D11M_

 _Sat down at the edible insects station and got almost one hundred percent accuracy. Very smart, intellectual, and investigates each plant carefully before tossing it into the appropriate jar. Probably a four or a five._

 **POV: Aster Sabatello (District 11 Male)-14 y/o**

"Aster Sabatello of District 11 received the very impressive score of four! Great job, Aster!" Marcel exclaims with excitement. That's decent. It's could be better and it could be worse. I'm reasonably happy with it.

"Congratulations, Aster," my escort says. "I'm really proud of you."

I thank her and slump down on the couch to watch the rest of the scores. Might as well see what I'm up against so that I have a chance of survival in the arena.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D11F_

 _Nailed the camouflage station and made her arm look exactly like an old log from a dead tree. If she can do that in ten minutes, there's no telling what she could do with lots of time in the area. We'll probably give her a four just because camouflage isn't the most useful skill in the world._

 **POV: Lillian Forseberg (District 11 Female)-13 y/o**

I don't really know what to expect for my training score. Did I impress the gamemakers, or did I drown in the sea of nines and tens? I don't know.

"Lillian Forseberg of District 11 received the score of four. Great job!" Marcel reads excitedly.

"That's decent," I blurt out, attracting the attention of my prep team.

"Yeah. That's actually really good!" my escort agrees.

"You'll make it far into the games, just wait and see," adds my mentor.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D12M_

 _Climbed the rock wall swiftly and efficiently. Nothing particularly memorable or interesting about his performance so I can't imagine sponsors flocking to him. But, then again, he's eighteen so probably a four or five._

 **POV: Julian Ackerly (District 12 Male)-18 y/o**

I think that I should get an okay score. I mean, I don't think that I put on the most amazing performance in the world, but I don't think I was horrible either.

"Julian Ackerly of District 12 received the score of four!" Marcel exclaims.

"Good job," my escort says in her typical dreary voice.

I'm reasonably happy with that. It's not phenomal and not horrible. It's right in the middle. I think that I can survive far into the games even though I in no regards got the highest score. Training scores don't tell the full story, and I'm confident that I'll make it far.

 **Gamemaker's Notes:**

 _D12F_

 _Built a snare with two sticks and a sapling. The trap only caught the fake animal sixty percent of the time, though, so I'd probably only give her a three or a four._

 **POV: Danielle Koltser (District 12 Female)-13 y/o**

"Finally, Danielle Koltser of District 12 received the phenomenal score of four!" Marcel reads. I'm pretty happy with that. I was honestly expecting a three or a four anyways, but it comes as a shock all the same.

"Great job, Danielle. I'm proud of you," my stylist says. After I thank her, I watch Marcel read the closing statement.

"We are all very proud of all of you. Remember that tomorrow night the interviews will be held so that we may get to know each of you a bit better. Then, the games will begin! Have a great night!" Marcel exclaims. The instant the closing speech is over, the television turns off and only an empty black screen remains.

* * *

 **Quick Training Score Recap:**

 **D1M-Abalone Toteston (17)-9**

 **D1F-Sapphire Peretz (18)-8**

 **D2M-Colton Chancler (16)-10**

 **D2F-Emma Walker (15)-9**

 **D3M-Cirkyt Janik (12)-6**

 **D3F-Gyzmo Kressin (18)-7**

 **D4M-Nathan Kaputo (17)-10**

 **D4F-January Frable (12)-7**

 **D5M-Dorian Bacchmuth (18)-10**

 **D5F-Ambrosia Clemens (13)-5**

 **D6M-Michael Leftwich (14)-3**

 **D6F-Anna Kerkelie (17)-4**

 **D7M-Grover Hutchings (16)-12**

 **D7F-Amber Symons (13)-11**

 **D8M-Justin Kirsten (18)-5**

 **D8F-Calico Alpert (13)-2**

 **D9M-Jackson Harte (16)-4**

 **D9F-Kennedy Seibold (17)-5**

 **D10M-Colton Spears (14)-8**

 **D10F-Amanda Boix (12)-3**

 **D11M-Aster Sabatello (14)-4**

 **D11F-Lillian Forseberg (13)-4**

 **D12M-Julian Ackerly (18)-4**

 **D12F-Danielle Koltser (13)-4**

* * *

 **This was probably the most fun chapter to write so far. I really liked not only coming up with the right scores but also writing each tribute's reaction to their score. I tried to make them as realistic as possible, and I hope that you can agree that all of the scores were correct and realistic. Next chapter will be all of the interviews, and then will be the bloodbath! I'm super excited! Thank you so much for all of the lovely reviews you guys have been leaving!**

* * *

 **Published 9/3/17**


	23. The Interviews

**Chapter 23-The Interviews:**

 **This chapter is going to be a super long one; all twenty-four interviews will be mashed together in this chapter. I've tried to keep each one as short as possible, but the chapter is still gigantic nevertheless. Next chapter will be the bloodbath! Enjoy!**

 **POV: Caligula Lock (President of Panem)**

Marcel Flickerman bends forward in a deep bow. The audience roars in applause as he holds the position for a few moments before rising back up and strolling over to the microphone.

"Welcome one and welcome all to the interviews of the 100th Hunger Games! Tonight we will all get to know each tribute a little better, as a three minute interview is provided for each tribute. First off is Sapphire Peretz of District 1!"

Sapphire strolls onto stage with a grin as wide as the moon plastered across her attractive young face. She smiles wide and waves to the audience. The audience roars in applause as the girl sits down on the chair next to Marcel's and crosses one leg over the other.

"Well, Sapphire, how are you enjoying the Capitol?" Marcel asks.

"Oh, it's fantastic! The food's great, the rooms are great, everything's great. And I can't wait to come back here in a month or so," Sapphire replies.

"Oh, so you're confident?" Marcel observes with a tone of surprise in his voice.

"Yeah. Totally. I know I'll be making it back here after the games are over. Just you wait and see. Don't ever count me out."

"Oh, I would never count you out, Sapphire," Marcel assures the girl.

"Thank you," Sapphire replies.

"Do you like your name? It's very unique!" Marcel asks. "Sapphire."

"Well, I like it in most situations," the girl says. "The only problem is that it isn't very appropriate for the games. Once I go into that arena I want the other tributes to recognize that there's a not so sparkly streak in me. I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty."

Before the girl can elaborate further, her buzzer rings. After Marcel thanks her for her time, the girl prances off of the stage with the same grace as before.

"Next up is the other half of the District 1 team, Abalone Toteston!" Marcel hollers. Abalone waltzes onto stage and sinks down into the chair next to Marcel.

"How are you doing today?" Marcel asks the boy.

"I'm doing great. I'm loving the Capitol, too. I haven't got a care in the world right now."

"Oh, I think we all wish that that were the case for us too, don't you think?" Marcel asks the audience. The crowd hums in confirmation. "Alas, that's almost never the case. But, certainly, if you become a victor, you'll be living your wildest dreams every day!" Marcel exclaims.

"Yeah. And I know I can win. I'm sure of it!" Abalone replies confidently.

"Got a girlfriend?" Marcel blurts out so fast and so randomly it's almost comedic.

The boy blushes beet red and falters for a bit as if searching for an answer to Marcel's question. All of the sudden, the red color disappears and is replaced with a charming smile.

"No. I haven't really got any love interests yet. I've been too busy getting ready for the Hunger Games to worry about that stuff," Abalone answers.

"Well, is there anyone that you've been lusting over from afar? If you win, you'll certainly be able to get any girl you want," Marcel asks further.

"No. If I like someone, they know it. I'm pretty straightforward that way," he answers confidently.

"What do you think of the extra twists?" Marcel interrogates. The boy pauses for a bit and stares at the ceiling as if searching for the right answer.

"Oh, I love them all," he finally replies. "They're very creative. Especially the one that grants each tribute a second chance after they die. Twice as much fame and glory if I win."

"I must ask: what inspired you to add that twist in?" the boy asks, crumpling his face with curiosity.

"Well, we just wanted to show that up here in the Capitol we believe in second chances."

Before they can answer any further questions from each other, Abalone's buzzer rings.

"Next up is Emma Walker of District 2!" Marcel exclaims. Emma strolls onto the stage, bringing on a whole new wave of cheers from the audience as Marcel welcomes her.

"Oh, you look wonderful, Emma!" Marcel compliments, pointing at Emma's lovely pink dress cascading towards the ground and tumbling around her feet.

"Thank you!" Emma replies. "You look just as wonderful," Emma repeats the compliment.

"Oh, thank you," Marcel replies. "Now, Emma, what inspired you to volunteer into this very special Hunger Games?"

"Huh…" Emma pauses for a bit to come up with an answer. "I guess I just wanted to take part in a Quarter Quell. I'm very honored that I can bring pride to my district and honor to my country once I win. That feeling of satisfaction and duty is enough to risk your life for."

"Well, you clearly have a clear set of morals, Emma," Marcel notices. A hum of approval rolls through the audience.

"What do you think of the main twist, the one that requires every tribute to be a volunteer?" Marcel asks.

"Well, it surely is unique," the girl replies. "It will also make for a very interesting games, because every tribute has that extra motivation to win. On the other hand, I absolutely loved the extra twists. They were so creative and well added in."

"When did you decide, Emma, that you wanted to volunteer into the Hunger Games?"

"Since I was I child," Emma replies. "My family urged me to wait until a quarter quell to volunteer, just for that extra bit of pride when I win."

"So you've got family?" Marcel inquires.

"Yep. My parents," Emma adds.

"Well, they're surely proud of their daughter, making it all of the way here. I'm sure they love you very much."

At that, the loud buzzer sounds and Emma prances off of the stage.

"Next up is District 2's Colton Chancler!" Marcel exclaims. The boy strides onto stage and sinks down into the plush velvet chair, his huge form making the chair look miniature.

"Well, Colton, are you looking forward to entering the arena? You sure seem confident," Marcel observes.

"Yeah. I'm excited for when I win," Colton chews up the words and spits them out.

"And what do you think of the other tributes?" Marcel inquires, leaning forward in his chair as if making sure he doesn't miss the answer. The boy pauses for an extremely long period of time before finally speaking.

"Weak," he says with an intimidating tone in his voice. The boy is clearly trying to act mysterious for the audience, which makes him that extra bit more intriguing.

"How are things back home? Why did you volunteer?" Marcel asks, now desperately searching for something to say to entertain the audience.

"I volunteered because I know I can win. And I am going to win, I assure you," he says. There's no time to explain. The buzzer sounds and he throws himself off of his chair before strolling off of the stage.

"Now, we have the pleasure of hearing from District 3's Gyzmo Kressin!" Marcel shouts. He turns towards the entrance as Gyzmo waltzes onto stage, smiling and waving to the audience.

"Welcome, Gyzmo! What's your favorite part of the Capitol so far? You sure seem to be enjoying it!" Marcel asks after the girl sits down.

"Hmm…that's a toughie," Gyzmo places her finger over her chin as if searching for an answer to the question. "I would have to say either the food or the beds in the training center. They're so comfortable!" the girl exclaims, fingering her braid.

"Hey, what's that in your hair? Why don't you show us?" Marcel requests, leaning forward in his chair to get a glimpse of her braid.

"If you say so," the girl lifts herself off of her chair and turns towards the audience, allowing all to see the blue and purple feathers woven into her hair. A sigh of veneration comes from the audience as she sits back down.

"Now, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask you this. Why did you volunteer?" Marcel asks.

"Well, I wouldn't mind being rich. You know, my mother was a victor, and I've kind of always known that I wanted to follow in her footsteps."

"I'm sure she's very proud of you," Marcel adds. "Don't you all agree?" he says as he gestures towards the audience. The crowd lets out a sigh of agreement.

"What's your opinion on the extra twists? I thought they were very cool!" Marcel asks the girl.

"Oh, I loved them. The first one, the one that required a map of every tribute to be projected into the sky once a day will make for a super interesting games. The third one was my favorite, though."

"Why was it your favorite?" Marcel asks, leaning in as to make sure he doesn't miss the answer. There's no time for her to explain. The loud buzzer sounds before she can open her mouth. After Marcel dismisses her, she waltzes off of the stage confidently.

"Next in line is District 3's Cirkyt Janik!" Marcel announces. The boy waltzes onto stage and sits down in the chair next to Marcel's, his feet dangling a few inches above the ground because of his short stature.

"Are you excited for the 100th Hunger Games? They're sure to be a doozy because of the four twists!" Marcel says.

"Yes! I'm very excited," says Cirkyt, fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

"And what are your plans for the arena? What will you do when that gong rings?" Marcel asks.

"Hehe. I won't tell you yet. You'll just have to wait and see!" the boy exclaims, grinning.

"Oh, you're just messing with us, keeping us on the edge of our seats!" says Marcel with a smile.

"Yep. I like surprises, and I know a lot of people do, so I don't want to spoil anything. I want the games to be as exhilarating as possible."

"I think we all do," Marcel says. "And they're guaranteed to be exhilarating because of the twists. But why did you volunteer into the games in the first place?"

"Well, my dad and I have wanted to do a lot of things that we can't do because we don't have the money. But if I win, we can afford to do all that and make our dreams come true. Don't count me out!"

"Oh, you know I would never do that," Marcel assures him with an affirmative smile. Cirkyt's buzzer sounds. He throws himself off of his seat and strolls off of the stage.

"I'm sure you'll join me in welcoming January Frable of District 4 to the stage!" Marcel hollers. January paces onto the stage and drops down in the chair next to Marcel's, wearing a dress that looks like it was spun from the very water of the ocean from which fish comes from.

"Wow! You look fabulous!" Marcel exclaims. "Why don't you stand up so that we can all see your dress?"

The girl obeys, standing up and twirling around a few times, the sea-blue fabric whirling around her torso. The audience roars in applause at the beauty of the thing.

"Isn't it beautiful?" January asks, to nobody in particular.

"Absolutely," Marcel replies. The girl sits back down and begins her interview once the cheering of the audience dies down a bit.

"How are you tonight? You sure seem happy!" says Marcel.

"Oh, I'm great, Marcel. I love it here. And I can't wait to go into that arena and show everyone what I'm made of. You won't be disappointed."

"I'm sure we won't. What are your thoughts on the extra twists?" Marcel asks January.

"I really like them, actually. They all seem really appropriate and exciting. This _is_ the 100th Hunger Games, and it kind of has to be exciting. I'll do my best to make it as exciting as possible for all of you guys. I'm not afraid to get my hands a little dirty," she says with a smile, holding her hands above her head for a few moments as if to show the audience how clean they are.

"Are you confident that you're able to win this thing?" Marcel ventures.

"Yep," the girl replies, forming her lips into a solid line. "I'm sure I'll win. Just you watch. I may be only twelve, but I can certainly pack a punch," January says, forming her hand into a fist and holding into the air playfully. January's buzzer sounds, and she stands up, bows to the audience, and starts off of the stage, her dress trailing over the ground behind her.

"Next is Nathan Kaputo of District 4!" Marcel hollers. The boy strolls onto stage, smiling and waving towards the audience as he walks towards his chair.

"Nathan, how are you doing today?" Marcel asks as Nathan takes a seat across from him.

"Well. Very well, thank you. How are you?" Nathan repeats the question.

"Oh, I'm fantastic. Exhilarated, really. I love my job," Marcel answers. "How far do you think you'll make it into the games? Are you confident that you can win?"

"Oh, I'm very confident, Marcel. I know that I can win," Nathan replies.

"Your training score certainly supports that. Tens are very high! What did you think of the twist?" Marcel asks.

"I love it. Every tribute has that extra motivation to win because they all have their own reasons to return home victorious. It's sure to be the most exciting games yet," he answers.

"I agree one-hundred-percent," Marcel agrees, nodding his head in confirmation. "What did you think of the extra twists? Which was your favorite?"

"Hmmm," Nathan hums as if searching for his answer to the difficult question. "I guess the first one has to be my favorite. Everyone will have to be on the move to avoid being ratted out by the more bloodthirsty tributes in ten seconds. I love them all, though. It's super hard if not impossible to pick a favorite."

At that, Nathan's buzzer sounds. He lifts himself off of his chair and offers one wide wave to the audience before striding off of the stage.

"Next, we have the pleasure of hearing from District 5's Ambrosia Clemens!" Marcel announces. Ambrosia strolls onto stage wearing a glittering purple dress and slumps down into the chair across from Marcel, crossing one leg over the other.

"My, my, don't you look special," Marcel comments on the way Ambrosia looks in her dress.

"Thank you," she replies modestly, leaning towards the audience a bit so that the crowd can all see it.

"How are you enjoying the Capitol so far, Ambrosia?" Marcel asks with a smile.

"I love it. The food is great, the beds are super comfortable, and the atmosphere is great. It's kind of everything I've ever dreamed of and more. It really is wonderful," Ambrosia replies with a glimpse of longing in her eyes.

"It really is amazing," Marcel agrees. "Why did you come here in the first place? That is to say, why did you volunteer?"

The girl looks taken aback for a moment. I can practically see the thoughts racing through her head as she tries to come up with an answer.

"I guess I've just always wanted to see the Capitol and live there for a bit. And I can't wait to come back here in a few weeks," she answers, forcing a smile.

"Well, I do think that even getting a glimpse of this wonderful country is enough to risk one's life for, isn't it," Marcel conjectures. Ambrosia nods in agreement.

"And what did you think of the twist?" he ventures.

"Great, I thought it was really great," she says simply, not giving many details. There's no time for her to explain any further because her buzzer rings before she can do so much as open her mouth. She leaps off of the chair and waves to the audience a bit before strolling off of the stage and making way for the next tribute.

"And next in line is District 5's Dorian Bacchmuth!" Marcel shouts. The boy starts onto the stage, waving to the audience and smiling.

"Dorian. How are you doing today?" Marcel asks as Dorian takes a seat across from him.

"Well. Very well, actually. I've wanted to come here my whole life," he replies.

"I'm sure you have," Marcel adds as a response of sorts to Dorian's answer. "What did you think of the main twist?"

"I really liked it. It's really cool and really creative. I can't wait to go into that arena and be declared the victor of the 100th Hunger Games."

"So you're confident?" Marcel notices.

"Yep," he replies confidently. "I know that I'll be returning here in a few weeks. I just know it. Don't ever count me out."

"Rest assured that we would _never_ count _anybody_ out. Have you got family back home?" Marcel asks.

"Yes," he replies. "My parents."

"Well, I'm sure they're very proud of their son, making it all of the way here."

"I certainly hope so," the boy replies, shrugging his shoulders. The buzzer sounds. Marcel thanks Dorian for his time, and then the boy lifts himself off of the chair and confidently strides off of the stage with a grin on his face.

"Now, we have the privilege of hearing from District 6's Anna Kerkelie!" Marcel cries. The girl prances onto stage, smiling madly and swinging back and forth, letting the frills of her dazzling emerald green skirt whirl around her body as she takes a seat across from Marcel.

"Wow! Isn't your dress something?" Marcel's eyes widen in amazement.

"I know, right? It's so amazing. It's such a shame that I don't get to keep it if I win," Anna adds, a disappointed expression on her face.

"Now, Anna, what makes you so confident that you'll win? You sure seem that way!" Marcel observes.

"Well, I kind of have to have that attitude. No person who always has a bad attitude and wallows in their pessimism will make it far into the games. It's best to just smile and live life to its fullest. Tomorrow isn't a given, you know."

"Those really are words to live by," Marcel says with a solemn tone in his voice. "What is your opinion on the extra twists?" Marcel changes the subject so rapidly it's almost comedic.

"I think they're super creative. They'll sure make the games as exciting as possible," Anna replies, fidgeting with the frills of her skirt.

"I agree with you one-hundred percent," Marcel agrees. Anna's buzzer rings.

"Oh, it's such a shame we don't have more time to get to know you. Thank you so much for your time. Good luck," Marcel says. At that, Anna starts off of the stage.

"Next up, finishing off the first half of the interviews tonight is Michael Leftwich of District 6!" Marcel exclaims. Michael strolls onto stage, smiling and waving to the audience.

"Now, Michael, we sure have a lot to talk about and such little time. Let's start at the beginning. What was your reaction when you volunteered? What was going through your mind when you uttered those special words?" Marcel asks.

"You want to hear the real answer?" Michael says in a hushed whisper, placing his hand on one side of his mouth. "I was just happy that I wouldn't have to go to school on Monday!" he exclaims comedically. The audience bursts into laughter at his joke.

"Well, that's a very interesting response, to say the least!" Marcel exclaims, laughing a bit himself. "Are you confident that you can win?" Marcel attempts to steer the topic back towards the actual interview.

"Yeah!" Michael exclaims, standing up. "Vote for me!" he exclaims as he raises his hands into the air, which proves he's either hilariously funny or has zero idea of the concept of the Hunger Games. The audience bursts into laughter once more before the boy sits back down. "Schools will be cancelled on Thursday and Friday! Compulsory party days for everybody!"

"Alright, Michael, let's not get too carried away, now. I don't think victors have _that_ much power," Marcel attempts to calm him down a bit with no success.

"They will after I win! I'll make them have that power!" the boy shouts hilariously. The audience sighs in disappointment when Michael's buzzer rings.

"Oh, wouldn't we all love to spend a few more minutes with you?" Marcel asks. The audience sighs in agreement. "Unfortunately, rules are rules. We all wish you luck, Michael." With that, he starts off of the stage.

"We now have District 7's Amber Symons!" Marcel hollers. The girl strolls onto stage and plops down in the seat across from Marcel.

"How are you doing, Amber?" Marcel asks.

The girl grins with joy. "Oh, I'm doing wonderful. Might I add that you look absolutely fabulous, today, Marcel," Amber adds, pointing at Marcel's outfit.

"I would say the same about you," Marcel returns the compliment. "What's your opinion on the three extra twists? They sure are interesting ones!"

"I love them all. The first one was just so creative, the second one was as well, but the third one has to be my favorite. Every tribute having two lives in the arena gives twice as much fame and glory to the victor, right?"

"Absolutely," Marcel confirms. "How confident are you that the victor will be you?"

"I'm fairly confident. Very confident, actually," Amber answers.

"Well, confidence really is key," Marcel adds. Amber nods in agreement.

"How's life back home?" Marcel asks, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in the plush velvet chair.

"It's fine. I've kind of always known that I wanted to volunteer, but I wanted to wait until a Quarter Quell just for that extra boost to win," Amber answers.

"And what gives you that extra boost to win now?" Marcel interrogates.

"I guess the fact that, off the ninety-nine Hunger Games victors, only three won Quarter Quells, gives me that extra motivation to join that 'exclusive club' of sorts."

Amber's buzzer rings soon after. She hoists herself out of the chair and waves to the audience before starting off of the stage.

"Next in line is District 7's Grover Hutchings!" Marcel exclaims. The boy starts onto stage and sits down across from Marcel.

"Got any guesses about the whereabouts of the arena?" Marcel asks curiously.

"I don't even know where to start guessing, so I'd have to say no," Grover answers.

"Have you got any wishes for the arena?" Marcel asks further.

"I hope that there'll be a lot of trees," the boy answers.

"Why is that?" Marcel leans forward in his chair as if making sure he doesn't miss the answer.

"Forests are good places to…" he pauses as if searching for the right word. "Disappear. There are not many trees here in the Capitol. But there are so many things to do that it almost makes up for the lack of green. But not quite."

"Why ever not?" Marcel asks.

"Nothing beats nature in its pure form. Away from the clutches of mankind. We have lots of forests back in my home district and I've loved them ever since I was a child," he answers. Marcel nods in understanding as he speaks.

"So, Grover, when you're not scoring _twelves_ in training, what do you do?"

"I really like to play outside. It's one of my favorite things to do," he replies.

"I remember playing outside a great deal when I was your age," Marcel adds, looking as if he's thinking back to his childhood.

"Me and you both," Grover says to Marcel.

"Well, it's time to succumb to the elephant in the room. What did you do during your session to earn a twelve? That's the highest score this year!"

The boy pauses for a bit as if searching for the right answer. "I have my ways," he replies. "You'll just have to see what my skills and talents are when I'm entered into the arena."

"You're certainly killing us with the wait," Marcel says. Grover's buzzer rings, so he stands up and waves to the roaring crowd before waltzing off and making way for the next tribute.

"Let's all but our hands together for District 8's Calico Alpert!" Marcel shouts. The girl strolls onto stage, smiling madly and swinging back and forth, allowing the frills of her golden sparkly dress to swirl around her torso.

"Please, sit down, Calico," Marcel requests as the girl drops down onto the chair across from Marcel.

"Got any hidden talents, Calico, that you'd like to show us?" Marcel asks once the applause from the crowd dies down a bit.

"Well, I can touch my nose with my tongue!" Calico exclaims. The audience explodes into laughter and I refrain from shoving my hands over my ears to drown out the sound. "Would you like to see?"

"Yes-sir-ree!" Marcel chuckles. The crowd goes quiet as Calico sticks out her tongue and reaches it up before gently touching the tip of her noise. "And watch this!" Calico says as she grabs the tip of her tongue and pulls it up to her left eye.

"I think we'd better declare Calico the victor already!" Marcel attempts to duplicate Calico's feat with no luck, not resulting in an impressive feat but instead just a stupid facial expression.

"You look absolutely marvelous, today! Why don't you stand up so we can all see your lovely skirt," Marcel requests. The girl nods her head as she stands up and twirls around a few times. The crowd sighs in veneration as the dress practically glows, the golden sparkles and sequins reflecting the light from overhead so that I can practically see myself reflecting in the material.

"In fact, I'd like a round of applause for my stylist who put together this lovely costume!" Calico says before the audience stands up and applauds the beauty of the dress. Marcel instructs the girl to sit back down once the cheering dies down a bit.

"I'm eager to know what you think of the extra twists," Marcel says.

"Sure," the girl replies, crossing one leg over the other. "I think they're super creative. My favorite has to be the second one, though—the one that exempts the family members of the victor from the reaping for the rest of their lives. It just goes to show the generosity of the Capitol."

"That it does," Marcel confirms. Calico's buzzer rings not one second after he finishes his thought. After Marcel thanks her for her time, the girl skips off of the stage.

"Let's have a round of applause for District 8's Justin Kirsten!" Marcel shouts. The audience complies, clapping and whistling as the boy strolls onto stage and sits down across from Marcel.

"Have you been watching the interviews from backstage, Justin?" Marcel asks.

"Yep. They've been very interesting, to say the least," he pauses for a bit, crinkling his eyebrows and desperately searching for something to say. "I'm really nervous," he says anxiously after a long while.

"Don't worry," Marcel assures him. "We're just all here to have a great time."

"What are your thoughts on the 100th Hunger Games?" Marcel asks, patiently encouraging Justin to talk.

"They're interesting. I can't wait for them to begin," he replies.

"Me too. I think that's true for all of us, is it not?" Marcel shouts to the audience. The crowd roars in confirmation of his statement.

"What are some of your strengths, Justin?" he asks. "What are some of the things that will help you to make it far into the games?"

"Um, yes, well… I guess I'm good at quickly setting up a makeshift shelter and building an efficient snare. Those are the two main things I focused on during training."

"Indeed, those are two very important skills to learn. Both of them might well save your life in that arena," as Marcel speaks, Justin nods his head in agreement.

"How long have you been the host of the games, again?" Justin asks Marcel, tilting his head.

"This is my seventeenth year! I know, I'm so old, right?" he answers. At this, the audience chuckles a bit. But, Justin's buzzer rings before he can crack any more jokes. Justin quickly gets off of the chair and anxiously high-tails off of the stage briskly.

"Next, we have the pleasure of hearing from District 9's Kennedy Seibold!" Marcel exclaims as the girl strolls onto the stage and drops down in the chair across from Marcel.

"How are you tonight, Kennedy?" Marcel asks the girl.

"Splendid. And you?" she replies.

"I'm fantastic. You know, it's very difficult to not be in a happy mood this time of year. It's the Hunger Games!"

"Now, Kennedy, why did you volunteer?" Marcel asks, leaning forward in his chair as if not wanting to miss the answer. The crowd goes silent as everyone wants to hear her response.

"Well, my family and I have been facing some…economic hardship recently," she replies a while later. "The monetary prize that they give to the victor could help my family to get out of that sticky situation and move on."

"Well, we all wish the best of luck to you," Marcel says sympathetically. The girl nods her head in agreement as Marcel speaks.

"Have you got family back home?" Marcel asks Kennedy.

"Yep. Just my parents," Kennedy answers crisply, forming her lips into a tight and solid line.

"Well, I'm sure they're very proud of their daughter for making it all of the way here," Marcel suggests. At that, Kennedy's buzzer sounds. She shakes hands with Marcel, and after Marcel thanks her for her time she walks off of the stage.

"Let's all put our hands together for Jackson Harte of District 9!" Marcel exclaims as the boy walks onto the stage and sits down across from him.

"Hello, Jackson," Marcel says, turning towards him and speaking in a conversational tone.

"Hi, Marcel," the boy replies, crossing one leg over the other.

"Now, Jackson, what did you do in your private session to earn yourself the score you got?" Marcel asks him. Even though Jackson only got a four, Marcel sure seems excited to hear his answer.

"I wish I could tell you," he says in a tone that carries a hint of smugness. "But I can't."

"Not even a tiny hint?" Marcel begs, putting his first and second fingers a tiny distance apart as if to request a small amount.

"Nope," he says, shaking his head and crossing his arms. "I have my ways, and you'll just have to wait until the games start to see what I'm capable of."

"Well, you've sure got us on the edge of our seats. Now, back on topic, what are your thoughts on the main twist, the one that requires every single tribute to be a volunteer?"

"I think it's quite clever," the boy replies after a few moments of thinking. "It certainly will make for one of the most exciting games in history," Marcel nods in agreement as Jackson speaks.

What's your life like back home? Why did you volunteer?" Marcel asks the two questions in rapid fire as if anxious to hear his answers.

"Well, life's pretty simple back home. I would say it's just the typical life for a teenager: going to school, hanging out with friends at the home, you know, the normal stuff."

"And why did you volunteer?" Marcel repeats his question. There's no time for him to explain because his buzzer rings before he can do so much as open his mouth. At that, the crowd produces a collective sigh of disappointment.

"Alas, rules are rules, and Jackson Harte's time is up," Marcel says as he wishes Jackson luck. At that, Jackson makes one, wide wave to the crowd and leaves the stage.

"I'm sure you'll join me in welcoming to the stage Amanda Boix of District 10!" Marcel exclaims. The girl walks onto stage, smiling and waving to the crowd as she strolls over to her seat.

"How are you doing, Amanda?" Marcel asks the girl.

"I'm just wonderful. The Capitol is so much more amazing than I ever pictured it to be," the girl responds. Amanda is different from all of the other tributes. She seems like just that—a little girl. Not a strong fighter or a keen survivalist. Just a little girl.

"Yes, our city is very beautiful," Marcel confirms her statement. "How are you enjoying it here?"

"It's fabulous. The food is great and the beds are great and the view from the training center is to die for," she says, eyes widening with enthusiasm.

"It really is," he replies, nodding. "What were your thoughts when the mayor pulled your name from the makeshift reaping bowl?" Marcel asks her.

"I was shocked, of course. It would be impossible to not be shocked if your name was pulled out of thousands of others to enter a fight to the death. But I came to terms with it soon enough and now I'm just enjoying life here in the Capitol," she replies. Marcel chuckles at the girl's enthusiasm before asking his next question.

"Amanda. You've come so far. Your family must miss you very much. What would you say to them if you could?" Marcel says with a tone so drastically different than before that it feels strange and out of place.

"I'm sure they do miss me. I miss them very much as well. If I could say one thing to them now, I would just tell them to be strong and never give up. Persistence is what's going to help in all areas of life. It's what's going to help me make it as far as I can in the games."

"Those really are words to live by," Marcel adds, nodding his head in agreement. Amanda's buzzer rings soon after Marcel finishes speaking. When it does, she stands up and shakes hands with Marcel before starting out of the spotlight with a smile on her young face.

"Now, we have the pleasure of hearing from District 10's Colton Spears!" Marcel proclaims. The boy starts onto the stage and sits down across from him. Awkward tension hangs in the air as neither has anything to say.

"Hello, Colton," Marcel says after a long while. "How are you tonight?"

"I'm great," he replies simply.

"That's wonderful. Have you been watching the interviews from backstage?"

"Yep."

"Well, how do you like the Capitol?"

"Great."

"You miss home?"

"Nope."

Marcel bites his lip as he searches for something to say to coax a detailed answer out of the boy. "That's great! I guess you won't have to worry about homesickness in the arena. What part of the games are you most looking forward to?"

"Seeing the arena for the first time," Colton says nervously.

"That is very exciting," Marcel smiles. "Do you think you can win?"

"Yep. I'm sure," he says quickly, his voice quivering.

"I love your confidence. Confidence really is key," Marcel says.

"Thanks," Colton says, forming his lips into a tight line, his eyes turning a bit red. It's visibly obvious that he's fighting back tears.

"Are you nervous at all?" Marcel asks. The boy shakes his head back and forth a few times as if to say no. He's lying.

"Well, that's good," Marcel says.

At that, Colton's buzzer rings. As soon as the sound begins, Colton lifts himself off of the seat and shuffles off of the stage before being dismissed. For a millisecond, Marcel looks taken aback. But, he resumes his charismatic attitude and resumes the interviews immediately after.

"Next up, coming all the way from District 11, is Lillian Forseberg!" Marcel exclaims. The girl strolls onto the stage waving to the audience as she starts over to her spot and takes a seat.

"How are you holding up, Lillian?" Marcel asks the girl.

"Great. I don't think I've ever tasted pork tenderloin so delicious!" she replies with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

"That's great," Marcel chuckles a bit. "Got any wild guesses as to what the arena will be like?"

Lillian places her finger on her chin as if searching for an answer. "Well, it's a quarter quell, so it has to something special. Maybe a cave network, maybe a jungle, maybe a huge maze, and maybe so many other things that I can't count them all."

"Are you excited to find out?" Marcel asks.

"Sure I am," she replies with a grin on her face.

"What are your thoughts on the other aspect of the games: the four twists? Which was your favorite? Your least favorite?" Marcel continues.

"That's a really tough question. I guess my favorite is kind of a tie between the main twist, the one that requires every tribute to be a volunteer; and the fourth one, which grants each tribute a second chance after they die. They were all so creative, though."

"I agree. They're sure to make the games very special," Marcel agrees. "Have you got family back home?"

"Yep! My parents and my brother," she replies, pursing her lips.

"They must be very proud of you. You've come so far, Lillian. What would you say to them if you could?"

The girl utters a sound that sounds like the letter 'e', but her buzzer rings before she can finish her thought. The loud sound lasts for a few seconds as Lillian stands up. After Marcel wishes her luck in the arena, she shuffles off of the stage to make way for the last tributes.

"Next is Aster Sabatello of District 11!" Marcel shouts. The boy walks onto stage and sits down across from him.

"Aster! It certainly is a pleasure to see you!" Marcel exclaims, smiling.

"I'm super happy to see you too, Marcel," the boy adds.

"How are you enjoying the Capitol?" Marcel asks.

"Great. It really is beautiful," he replies simply.

"Well, I'm glad that you're enjoying yourself," Marcel says. "Have you got family back home?"

"Yep," he confirms, forming his lips into a solid line. "My mom and dad."

"Well, I'm sure they miss you very much, and I'm sure you miss them very much as well," as Marcel speaks, the boy nods his head in solemn agreement.

"But I have to do my best to win and go back home to them," he says with a solemn tone.

"And I'm sure that they'll be rooting for you in the arena," Marcel says. At that, Aster's buzzer rings and he strolls off of the stage.

"Now, let's all put our hands together for Danielle Koltser!" Marcel yells as the girl starts onto center stage and sits down across from him.

Marcel asks Danielle all of the usual questions, and she replies to all of them with a simple yes or no. Any questions pertaining to her home life she answers with a simple shrug. The girl's speech is simply void of enthusiasm and her responses are void of elaboration, only stopping to say that she doesn't mind killing when asked what her game plan is. She seems to want to remain as mysterious as possible.

Her strategy is certainly working, because she seems that extra bit more intriguing. When her buzzer rings, she shuffles off of center stage without giving Marcel the customary smile and handshake—not particularly rude, but not precedented anyways.

"And finally, we have the pleasure of hearing from District 12's Julian Ackerly!" Marcel exclaims as the boy strides onto stage and sits down across from him.

"Good night, Julian. How are you?" Marcel asks.

"Good. Very good. Thank you," he replies timidly.

"Well, that's certainly great. How do you think the twists will affect the way that the games play out?" Marcel asks.

"Huh. That's difficult to determine ahead of time," he says, squinting his eyes as if deep in thought. "The one that requires the map of all of the tributes to be shown in the sky will certainly make it more interesting because nobody will feel safe camping out in one place for long. The third one, though, is sure to be the most ground-breaking. I think we will all be that bit braver and more risk-taking knowing that we have two lives. The bloodbath will probably have at least fifteen deaths or so because of it," he replies.

"You have many very interesting ideas, Julian," Marcel says.

"Thank you," Julian thanks him for his compliment.

"Now, I think it's time to succumb to the elephant in the room," Marcel says. The room is so silent that you could hear a pin drop. "Why exactly did you volunteer at the reaping?"

Julian's face crinkles in deep thought. I can practically see his mind racing, searching for an answer.

"Well, when that boy fainted in front of me, I knew that I couldn't let that happen to any more people. I just had to volunteer for him," as he speaks, the crowd hums in admiration.

"We all admire your courage, Julian. You definitely have a clear set of morals," Marcel says with a look of sympathy on his face. "And we'll be rooting for you in the arena."

At that, Julian's buzzer sounds. He accepts Marcel's handshake and shoots the audience a charming smile before strolling off of the stage without looking back.

"So, are we all pumped up for the Hunger Games?" Marcel roars. The audience explodes with applause in confirmation.

"Great!" he exclaims. "At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, the 100th annual Hunger Games will begin! Twelve districts, twenty-four tributes, one victor. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever. Have a great night!" Marcel shouts. At that, he sets down the microphone and switches it off. He shoots a charming smile towards the audience and laughs as he strolls off of the stage.

 **What did you think of the interviews? I hope you enjoyed them. Next chapter will be the bloodbath! I'm super excited and it's going to be very difficult to kill off twenty-three of these characters because I love them all so much. It's sure to be one of the most exciting bloodbaths in history because more tributes will run in for supplies knowing that their death isn't necessarily final. Please review and tell me what you think!**

 **Published 9/10/17**


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